


A Frozen Hope

by SilentWitness



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Adoption, Angst, Belladonna is NOT a female Bilbo, Belladonna is awesome, Bilbo is Thorin's son, Bungo does not get enough credit for being awesome, But some are turdbuckets, Character Death, Cuddles to heal the angst, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Family Fluff, Fili and Kili are too young for the Company, Gen, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Hobbit Justice, Hobbits are generally awesome, Hurt/Comfort, More research than you realize, Sick Bilbo Baggins, So much Bilbo Angst, Surpringly cannon for an AU, Thorin will get more awesome as we go along, Tissue Warning, all the feels, and cuddles, baby!Bilbo, daddy!Thorin, prompt-fic, that's just how it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2732066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentWitness/pseuds/SilentWitness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belladonna Took was never one to lead a quiet and meek life, so when Gandalf and a company of dwarves came to her with adventure on their lips, she didn't hesitate to help them retake their mountain. Along the way she fell in love with the tumultuous Thorin Oakenshield, but when the gold madness seized him, she was banished from Erebor in disgrace.</p><p>It was quite the scandal when she returned to the Shire and gave birth to her half-dwarven baby, Bilbo.</p><p>But that, dear readers, is only the beginning of this story.</p><p>For evil lurks in so many places. It lurks in genes of a noble family surrounded by their wealth.  It lurks in creatures born to shadow.</p><p>And unfortunately for our heroes, evil lurks in the hearts of those they call family and friend.  After one of the Shire's own does the unthinkable, 6-year-old Bilbo is cast out into the wintry world alone.  </p><p>Yet all hope is not lost.  For Bilbo has a dwarven father he doesn't even know of. A father who is a king.  A king who is returning to the Shire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shire Scandal of the Century

**Author's Note:**

> Hello wonderful readers. I have to confess, this is a fill for another Hobbit kink meme prompt. The original prompt can be found in its entirety here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/11476.html?thread=23271124
> 
> In short the request was: _Bilbo is the son of Belladonna and Thorin. After he is conceived, Thorin and Belladonna fight and Belladonna returns to the Shire where she gives birth to Bilbo, a son Thorin never knew about. Bungo, who has always loved Belladonna, marries her and takes them in. They are happy for awhile until orcs attack the Shire and kill Belladonna. Either Bungo didn't really love Bilbo or Bungo dies/starts fading at this time and doesn't notice his family casting Bilbo out into the cold alone._
> 
> _Meanwhile Gandalf convinces Thorin that he's an idiot, and Thorin returns to the Shire only to find that the love of his life is dead, and the son he never knew about is missing in a blizzard. Cue search for the missing child, evil hobbits that learn that the child they abandoned is a prince, and the dwarves finding and raising Bilbo._
> 
> Now I fully intended to fulfill this request to the letter. While I've stuck to the basics, this story has taken a life all its own. But I hope if the original poster gets a chance to read this, he or she is happy with this anyway.
> 
> Asterisks (*) will indicate footnotes to clarify things within the story, though there's no need to interrupt reading to search them out. They will simply be for things that you might have a question about because it's different than cannon, but they won't add anything to the plotline.

It was the juicy scandal of the century. Beautiful and troublesome Belladonna Took had defied them all to go out on an adventure with _dwarves_ , and what had it gotten her? A return over a year later in disgrace and heavily pregnant. 

It was clear to everyone that the child she carried was half dwarf. Even after returning to the Shire, the baby did not come until a month after the normal Hobbit gestation, and who knew how long she'd been pregnant before she'd returned. Her stomach was quite obviously swollen with child when she'd arrived.

Probably, the gossipers eagerly whispered among themselves, she'd been corrupted by the crass morals of the big folk outside, giving herself over to her desires quickly and wantonly. Surely, they speculated, she'd carried on torrid affairs with one dwarven companion after another for the entirety of the trip. Certainly, they decided, she'd been cast out as a whore when it was found she was pregnant, sent home in disgrace. It served her right, then, to be outcast from proper society. To live with the shame her actions had caused her. To endure the whispers and giggles and knowing glances wherever she went. She was, after all, the biggest scandal in generations.

There was a lot that Belladonna Took was not telling - would never tell - those vicious gossips. How alone she'd felt as the sole Hobbit lass in a company of eleven male dwarves*. How she'd gradually formed what she'd thought were unbreakable bonds with her companions as they fought for their lives side by side - first against the goblins, then horrifying giant spiders and imprisonment, and finally a dragon. How she'd slowly fallen in love with the gruff, angry, obstinate, caring, regal leader of the company. How she'd felt when he, in turn, confessed his love for her. How she had watched gold madness take him over, sicken his mind and twist it. How he'd turned on her, nearly killing her before banishing her permanently and annulling all contracts that tied her to the company.

Including their marriage.

For they had married in Laketown. They had been welcomed with open arms and hope there. Belladonna had, in the dungeons of Mirkwood, confessed how deeply she had fallen in love. She didn't expect a response. She certainly didn't expect him to feel the same for her. But sitting by her bedside in Laketown as she lay shivering and feverish, Thorin Oakenshield had confessed that he'd never known a love as pure and intense as he felt for her. He'd never hoped to find his One, and here she was, his soulmate, the only woman he'd ever admired - albeit grudgingly - or adored.

She couldn't ask for a cornier or sweeter confession. 

And given their impulsive natures, they'd decided to marry right away, in Laketown, before facing down the Dragon of Erebor. At least if the worst happened, they could have a little time together as husband and wife. 

It was there that she conceived the child she carried back to the Shire. Being properly raised creatures of conservative societies, they'd done courtship right, though quickly, and their wedding night was the first for them both. 

And that was the final secret she would keep from those that openly scorned her. Her babe was the legitimate heir to the throne of the largest and richest dwarven kingdom. Though his father would never even know he existed.

Belladonna still loved Thorin - the Thorin she had known before they'd taken back the mountain. The first love she had ever had. She'd been so excited and nervous when she'd realized that she had all the classic signs of pregnancy. She knew that her race was particularly fertile, but given how difficult Thorin had told her it was to conceive dwarven children, she really had expected it to take a lot longer. She was eager to tell her husband - until she saw the haze that had fallen over his eyes after reclaiming the gold and his precious jewel.

So she'd put off telling him, hoping that this new obsession of his would eventually fade. When he looked at her again as if she was his entire world inside and out, then she would tell him and they would rejoice together.

But to her despair, he would never look at her that way again. He began spending more and more time in the treasure hall, sneaking out in the middle of the night, when he thought her asleep. He talked of nothing else but gold and the Arkenstone. When the people of Laketown who had so generously given them food and supplies and had taken the brunt of the dragon's wrath came to them for help and support, Thorin had callously turned them away, unwilling to part with his treasure. When Belladonna had reminded him that she was to receive an 11th of the share of the gold, and suggested using her own share to fund the work at Laketown and appease the Elves of Mirkwood, Thorin flatly refused. As her husband and king, he declared, he would decided how and when her share would be used.

And so Belladonna resorted to burglary, handing over her husband's most precious possession in hopes that he would come to his senses once it was gone. Or at the least be forced to make things right with those who should be his allies.

In the end, the latter is what came to pass, but not before Thorin's rage took him over completely, and he struck his wife and threatened to drop her to her death. It was Gandalf who intervened and reduced her sentence from death to banishment. It was Thorin who declared that her contracts with the company were now severed, that she was no longer entitled to any share of the treasure, and that she was no longer to be considered his wife. He cut the marriage braid from her head and burned it, and coated a white cloth with the ashes, rubbing it into her forehead. A divorce of disgrace.

Belladonna cried and cried. She feared she'd never stop. On the third day she'd cried herself almost to sleep again, Gandalf gently stroking her hair in sympathy, when she confessed to him that he'd, in fact, saved two lives at Erebor. He was somewhere between sorrowful and horrified by the news. He arranged that day for the Mirkwood elves to escort her back to the Shire immediately, and promised her that Thorin would not find out from him that his former wife was carrying his heir.

Belladonna would not tell her pretentious neighbours any of that. But she did tell Bungo. Sweet Bungo Baggins, who'd had a crush on her for years and years. She was genuinely sorry she didn't return his feelings in the same way, for he was a good and honest man. He deserved a beautiful lass from a good family that adored him. Yet all this time, he'd simply waited for her return.

He'd even built a beautifully grand smial, the envy of all Hobbiton, in hopes of winning her hand on her return.

How it must have hurt him, Belladonna thought, when she returned after so long, pregnant and clearly disgraced. She thought for sure that he would see her as used and worthless and accept the attentions of one of the many lasses vying for his hand.

Instead, he came to her as she sobbed by a secluded tree one day. Hugged her tight and said nothing. He did the same day after day, until she broke down and started talking - telling him of all the good and all the bad that she had encountered on her journey. She did not try to sugarcoat anything, and felt like the worst woman in the world as she described to him her great, broken love.

If Bungo was uncomfortable or jealous, he hid it well. He listened without judgment. He was a quiet, constant comfort. It was still clear that he loved her completely.

She could not understand how such an intelligent, respectable Hobbit could still want her after everything. After knowing that she would never be able to return the intensity of his feelings. She'd already found and lost her soulmate.

But who was to say she couldn't have two? They'd always been the dearest of friends, and they did love each other, even if it wasn't a heady romantic love. And as weeks turned into months, Bungo stayed by her side, his constant support a salve on the wounds the harsh words of others inflicted on her. She was growing in deep affection for him. Deeper than she'd felt for Thorin, really. This wasn't a whirlwind romance built on the eve of danger. It was the unassuming, creeping kind, built on the foundations of long-time friendship and mature understanding of each other. It was its own kind of love. Different.

And so she accepted Bungo's proposal, finally. He'd made it quicker than he'd have liked, but he was determined to marry her before the baby was born. The child was legitimate to her first marriage, but Bungo wanted it to be legitimate in the Shire as well. The lad or lass would have a hard enough time with Belladonna's reputation and being half dwarf. Bungo wanted the child to know without a doubt that it didn't matter what its blood heritage was; Bungo was its father.

They married quietly and moved into Bungo's smial. He named it Bag End. "A Baggins has always lived here," he declared, smiling at his new wife and rubbing her swollen stomach, "and always will. That's the end of things." Belladonna had smiled.

She was not smiling when it finally came time for her to give birth. The labour was long and painfully intense. Now she understood why dwarven births were so rare. Surely hobbit births could not be this bad. No one would ever want to have a second, much less eight or nine.

The pain was one thing; the tearing, blood loss and exhaustion were another. Those were potentially lethal. Halfway through, the midwives were afraid that neither Belladonna or her child would survive. But they, as always, underestimated the pluck of Belladonna Baggins. She got a second wind, and a third, and finally delivered a surprisingly tiny baby boy.

Bungo, agonized by the pained noises and cries his wife was making in the next room, simply couldn't wait another second when he heard the first of his son's cries. He rushed into the room, and scooped the child from the startled midwife's arms. Thus, when the baby opened his eyes for the very first time, they gazed up into Bungo's eyes and locked there, forming an instant bond. Bungo was enchanted, and hardly wanted to hand the babe over to his mother, even as he opened his tiny mouth and squealed in hunger.

The child was given an entirely Hobbit name: Bilbo Baggins. Baggins in name, Took in blood, heir to the Baggins family. He had ten perfect toes on appropriately hairy, though small, feet. He had ten perfect fingers on slightly thick hands, attached to slightly thick arms. He had a beautiful head of blond curls and smooth baby's face. If his ears were more rounded than pointed, and features a bit more stocky than is common in the Shire, well he was delightfully unique.

What was most important about Bilbo Baggins was that his parents unwaveringly adored him.

They were determined to protect him from the unreasonable hatred of their neighbours. 

So while he was still an infant, Bungo threw a party. Ostensibly, the party was a Welcome to the World for his son. Quite a common affair for new parents. The Baggins family was a wealthy one, and highly respected. It was well known that parties a Baggins threw would have the best of food, wine and ale - and lots of it - along with plenty of high quality gifts to take away. Where most gifts in the Shire were continuously in circulation, gifted and regifted and regifted again, often Baggins gifts were kept and displayed, even hoarded. Some certain coveted items had even been used in place of currency once or twice, traded for an especially expensive food item or pipeweed. This all was set to attract nearly everyone in Hobbiton. Even the most spiteful would come if it meant getting their hand on a Baggins Gift.

And so the party started. Food and drink was served, and it was time for the toasts. So Bungo leapt up, commanding the attention of all in attendance. His speech was not what the crowd expected to hear. It was not the gushings of a new parent, but a condemnation of those who had been treating Belladonna badly, and who might be considering doing the same to the newborn. He shamed them for their evil words and deeds towards his family, and then announced that Bilbo was as hobbit as anyone in attendance. He was also legally Baggins and would be raised as Bungo's own flesh. Therefore, any hostility toward the child as he grew would not be tolerated. Work and trade contracts could be voided, Bungo declared, food and sundry vendors could be changed, and invites to Baggins events could cease to be issued. Bilbo was to be treated as a normal hobbit child. No exceptions.

It was a threat that was very real, and worked very well. From that moment on, Bilbo was a protected child. He was not well liked, and resented by many in Hobbiton, but no one dared say anything around him. To his face, he was treated as sweetly as any other faunt. Thus he grew, secure in the love of his kin and neighbours, not realizing that anything about him was different.

Though, he was quite different. Bilbo did not grow normally for a hobbit child. 

Within months, hobbit babies changed from helpless, wiggling things to crawling, babbling terrors - then to bumbling, unsteadily walking motormouths. By their third birthdays, most faunts were released into little packs running around and playing in fields, nominally supervised by a rotation of their mothers. By that that time they were more or less steady on their large hobbit feet, and talking to each other constantly. Already, most of them spoke intelligibly, though it was not uncommon for some to still speak in only one or two word sentences. This was the age for them to learn by simply being, taking in every sight their large eyes laid upon, every smell, figuring out how the world worked by moving and tasting and touching. It wouldn't be long before their parents began consciously teaching them the skills they would need to thrive as adults.

By three years old, Bilbo was still a wobbly little toddler, barely making the transition from crawling to walking. His smaller feet were more unsteady in carrying about his thicker frame. He looked at the world through wide eyes of wonder, giggling and playing, happy and healthy - but he never spoke. He never even attempted words. There was intelligence in his eyes and actions. He didn't just wriggle about aimlessly as most children did at first, he looked ahead of him, calculating the effort something would take and the rewards for it. When he moved, it was deliberate and often mischievous. His Took family got many laughs from watching him. His mother, they insisted, had been just the same.

Belladonna and Bungo suspected that at least some of it was due to his dwarven heritage, however. Bilbo seemed to instinctively know the best position to be in for defense. He always chose to stand near a wall or corner where he could easily see the rest of the room, and he never seemed to turn his back on doors or entrances - or unfamiliar people for that matter. His cunning little eyes were never lazy, darting about constantly, taking in every movement, every detail around him. He seemed to be keen of hearing as well.

That he was intelligent, there was no doubt. By the time he finally began speaking, at the age of five, he simply broke out in full sentences, in both the common language of his people, and the Sindarin his mother had taught him as she herself learned. Why, he even worked in the few Khuzdul words his mother knew here and there. 

He was a sharp little child, both happiness and intelligence shining out of his large eyes. He just seemed to be developing differently from other hobbit children.

Belladonna was sure that he would equal out to the other faunts in time. No doubt dwarves had more time in them to allow them a longer childhood. She wished dearly that she could have inquired while she was still in Erebor. She and Bungo agreed together that by Bilbo's tenth birthday, they would travel to Bree, or beyond to the Blue Mountains, and get some answers. By that time, if it happened to be found out what Bilbo's heritage actually was, Bilbo would be old enough to make a judgement call on where he would like to go, and would be able to handle it emotionally if he were taken from them. Neither had any inclination of keeping his paternity from Bilbo, only that they wanted to wait until he was old enough to understand. So if not by his tenth birthday, surely before his twentieth, they told each other.

They would not live to make the trip, however. For just after Bilbo's sixth year, the Fell Winter hit, and suddenly everything changed forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Belladonna is traveling with the entire company, minus Fili and Kili. They would have been 32 and 27 respectively, and far too young for the journey. Ori, though often portrayed as the youngest or close to Fili's and Kili's ages, was at least 50 years older than Fili, making him at least 82, and old enough to go on this journey.


	2. Meanwhile, Under the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf hears a rumour that Thorin is mysteriously ill. Gandalf thinks he knows what it is, and hopes for the future.

Gandalf was returning to Erebor. The old man had left just after the great battle, before seeing Thorin fully recover from his battle wounds. Before seeing Thorin's coronation. Gandalf had simply told all those around him that he had other matters to attend to, and had left that day.

Thorin had not been happy, but truthfully had not wasted much rage on the exit of one who was not even his subject. He was still held in the thrall of his beautiful treasure and the madness that had plagued his family for generations. Gandalf posed him no threat at this time, and so Thorin's anger burnt out quickly, as his attentions turned to rebuilding his kingdom.

Despite the gold sickness, Thorin turned out not to be a bad king. His kingdom became his new obsession, and he poured much of its considerable wealth into rebuilding it. He did not want a patched kingdom, he wanted it done right, done well, and more grandiose than it had ever been, as was befitting his legacy. On that account, he was able to keep his alliances with the men of Dale and surrounding villages. As he needed food or supplies from them, it was reasoned that this was the only way of making Erebor great again, and was necessary. The bad blood his greed had cause before the Battle of the Five Armies was eventually written away into history and forgiven.

And, curiously, as his obsession with bettering his kingdom heightened, and he began spending more of the wealth around him on it, the gold madness began to lose its grip on him. It was a gradual process, but a noticeable one. Thorin had never claimed not to know what he was doing whilst locked in madness's grip, but he simply didn't care. Nothing mattered but the gold and the Arkenstone. As he began to care once more, the guilt in his eyes became palpable. He started committing the sorts of selfless acts he'd once been known for in the Blue Mountains - gifts of charity, encouraging speeches, random tacit kindnesses to those he passed. It was frankly baffling to those who hadn't known him before he became King Under the Mountain, but encouraging to his companions and advisers.

He started quietly making restitution to those he had wronged. Yet in the back of his mind he was always aware that there was one who he'd wronged cruelly, but could not make restitution to.

Over six years after he'd publicly humiliated, threatened the life of, divorced and banished his wife, it finally hit him what he had done. Certainly he had felt pangs of it since the beginning, but his mind had protected him as long as it could from the full brunt of what betraying his One meant. When it hit him, Thorin vanished for two days without a trace - worrying his closest companions sick and they searched desperately for him, despairing that he might have been abducted or murdered, and trying to keep it quiet until they knew for sure.

It was Balin who finally found him the third day, secluded away in a dark, isolated corner of Erebor. He was clutching Belladonna's love spoon to his chest, along with some of the other possessions she'd had to leave behind that day, tears running down his face continuously. It was a state he'd clearly been in since he'd gone missing.

Balin had seen many a dwarf who had lost their One, some long before their time. But he knew this was different. Not only had Thorin lost his One, he'd betrayed her publicly. Balin could not imagine the pain that sort of thing must cause. He didn't think there was anyone around who could.

So he just approached Thorin quietly, kneeling in front of him in silent support. Long minutes passed before Thorin raised his eyes to meet Balin's. "What have I done?" he inquired hopelessly, shattering Balin's heart, "What is this thing I have done?"

It took two of his company to get Thorin back to his room, and the strongest of Oin's medicines to finally ease him into sleep. Even in his sleep, the tears did not stop. He remained in that state day after day. Those closest to him despaired that he would ever come out of it. Meanwhile, Thorin's absence at court and business dealings had not gone unnoticed, and many were becoming suspicious of just what was going on with the King Under the Mountain. Finally, his advisers decided to reveal that Thorin was very ill, though they would not reveal the reason.

Outpourings of sympathy and gifts began to pour into Erebor for its stricken king. Rumours started up about just what sickness the king had caught and how bad it was, and quickly spread. Rumours that eventually caught up with Gandalf and prompted his return to Erebor. For Gandalf suspected and hoped that the mysterious illness that had stricken the king was actually guilt and grief over what he had done to his love, which would mean that he'd finally conquered the gold madness.

He had not, however, expected the state in which he found the king.

Gandalf was immediately rushed to the king's chambers and was shocked to see the once majestic king reduced to a thin, weak version of himself. His skin was actually a grey tone, and he looked old and weary, even in sleep. The dwarves confirmed Gandalf's hoped diagnoses, but did not know what to do for him. When Thorin next awoke and saw Gandalf sitting by his bedside, he immediately began apologizing profusely and tearfully, ending by asking desperately for any information of what had become of Belladonna.

Gandalf did not know if the knowledge he bore would help, but he'd decided to share it with the ailing dwarf.

"My dear Master Dwarf," Gandalf began the rather heartbreaking conversation, "Belladonna is safe. When you banished her, she immediately headed back to the Shire, and arrived there unharmed."

He paused.

"However, you must know that she has not just been sitting idly by since then. It has been over six years. When you publicly divorced her, you not only broke the bonds you held with her heart, you put her in a precarious position. Hobbits are quiet, rigidly traditional creatures. They have a strong sense of right and wrong, and they have a strong code of conduct. They stick to their own, and live out their lives respectably. They rarely travel far. Those born into the Shire, stay in the Shire. Though some families long ago migrated to live among Men in the city of Bree, even travel between the Shire and Bree is relatively rare. A respectable hobbit stays put and settles in to marriage and raising a family. Adventuring across Middle Earth with a band of outsiders, especially by a little lass all on her own, is the height of scandal."

Thorin closed his eyes in dread, hoping this was not going where he believed it to be.

Gandalf coughed and continued, "When that little lass returned to the Shire in obvious disgrace, there was no hope of her returning to her social circle. She was all but outcast by former friends, and constant gossip ensured that she could not reliably make new ones. She would have been condemned to a very lonely life."

Thorin did not miss the wording. "Would have? But you said she was safe. She is well, she must be!"

"Calm yourself, Thorin," Gandalf advised the king, who in his distress had sat straight up with more vigour than he'd displayed in weeks. He settled Thorin back against the pillows a poured a strong healing cup of tea from the pot he'd been supplied with by Oin. Thorin hardly noticed, blindly drinking of the brew he'd refused since his illness began. Gandalf smirked as he then passed Thorin some of the biscuits Bombur had sent up to Gandalf as a thanks for returning to Erebor. Thorin ate them without thinking.

"Belladonna is safe and unharmed as of our last meeting," Gandalf soothed. "When I say she would have been ostracized completely, it is with the exception of her childhood friend, Bungo Baggins. Bungo proved to be a true friend, who had loved her as a faunt and had never stopped. When she returned to the Shire, he was there to help her through her distress, and he protected her from the hostility of those around them. Thorin, she has been remarried. To Bungo Baggins."

Thorin's breath left him in a woosh. This was a possibility he had not thought of, not in all the terrible things he had been picturing all this time. Re-marriage was extraordinarily rare for dwarves. They searched their lives over to find their Ones - their true loves - and they did not let that go. When they did, it was usually by death or tragedy or betrayal, and they lived the rest of their lives alone. On one hand, it was good that she was safe. On the other, there was no chance she could be his again.

"She... she is happy, then," Thorin asked, half hoping she wasn't so that he could go to her rescue.

"She is," Gandalf stated, shattering his hope, "She does not love Bungo in the way that she loves you. Despite everything, she does still love you. But she loves him in a different way, and he is absolutely devoted to her happiness."

"That is... good." Thorin said with a sigh, sounding defeated. Defeated, but not forlorn. No longer overcome by sorrow and grief as intense as the sun. Disappointed.

Gandalf sighed, patting the dwarf's hand absently. He'd promised Belladonna that he would not tell Thorin about the existence of his son, but he knew her objection to him knowing was based on Thorin's thrall to his treasure. Now that that had been broken, Thorin deserved to know of the child's existence, at the least so he could meet him some time in the future.

"Do not despair totally, my dear king," Gandalf comforted, finally coming to a decision on what his tack would be, "all hope is not lost. Belladonna has expressed to me that she does want to see you again. She has some information that she feels important that you know. Both she and Bungo talked with me at length about making a journey to Erebor at some time in the distant future. Belladonna is still sure that someday you would come out of your sickness and recognize reason again."

Thorin snorted at these words, but his expression was a strange cross of awe and love and sorrow.

"Truth be told," Gandalf continued, "dear Bungo is so wholly devoted to Belladonna's happiness that he himself pulled me aside to inform me that if you came to your senses, and Belladonna still pined for you above himself, Bungo would step out of the way and return her to you." 

Bungo had done just that in fact, pulling Gandalf aside at the close of Gandalf's last visit to their smial, almost two years ago. He had been totally serious. However, Belladonna had caught them and heard their conversation, and fairly put poor Bungo through the ringer for it. Did he think her so fickle, she asked with scorn, as to just leave him and the life they'd built for some elusive better offer? Did he think she loved him so little? Had Bungo just married her out of pity?

Gandalf had offered his goodbyes and taken his leave as her tirade continued, but he could see the relief in Bungo's eyes, and knew that this fight would end with each reassuring the other that their love was genuine and not just convenience. Perhaps long held insecurities would come to light and be put to rest.

Gandalf felt a bit bad for implying to Thorin that he might still have a chance of winning back his One, for he did not truly believe that Belladonna would ever return to the king under the mountain. But he realized that the two needed to meet again, to talk to each other and heal. And Thorin needed to know that he had a blood-heir to his throne. Ultimately, Gandalf knew, if they were each to have peace in the rest of their lives, they would need to forgive each other face-to-face.

Thorin pondered what Gandalf had told him. To have another chance, even a fleeting one, with the only woman he would ever be able to love, was something he longed for deeply. And if Gandalf thought he needed to see Belladonna again, he probably did.

The next morning, the company was surprised to see Thorin up and about. Though still weak, he had regained his commanding presence. He announced that as soon as he fully recovered, he would be personally leading the company to the Blue Mountains to retrieve his sister and nephews and bring all who wanted to return to Erebor back to the lonely mountain. On the way, they would be stopping in the Shire so that Thorin could personally make his apologies to his ex-wife.

The company didn't know how Gandalf had done it, but they rejoiced to see their king return almost to the person he had been before they'd retaken Erebor. They would gladly go on this journey with him. Thorin wanted to set out right away, arguing that even though the winter was nigh, it didn't look to be a bad one. And any Dwarf with family in Ered Luin was welcome to come and bring them back to Erebor.

And so in the next weeks, as Thorin recovered and winter began to settle in, the company made themselves ready for their next big adventure, not realizing quite what would be in store for them this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, I know, but is still to set the scene for the things to come. The next chapter will once again focus on our favorite hobbit family.


	3. Of Jealousy and Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of this chapter is written from the perspective of Camellia Sackville. Camellia is not an OC, she is Otho Sackville-Baggins's mother. (In fact, there is not a single OC in this chapter. Every single character named is part of Tolkien's extensive hobbit family lines. I will always do my best to use canon characters whenever possible.)
> 
> Because much of the chapter is from the perspective of Camellia Sackville, you'll notice the writing will become a bit more... temperamental. This is to reflect the slow disintegration of her thoughts. I hope that will come across clearly.
> 
> Bilbo is six years old, but reflects a slower aging due to being half-dwarven. So in writing this, I picture him the equivalent of a (smart) three- or four-year-old human child in growth and reasoning ability.
> 
>  
> 
> Dear Readers, I truly am sorry for this chapter.

Jealousy is an insidious little bug. It worms its way into your heart when you aren't paying attention, and stays there, growing and seething. It causes one to feel emotions they would not normally, to do things they'd never think of doing. It frequently turns in to hate.

This was the state in which Camellia Sackville found herself.

Sackville, as Camellia frequently reminded herself, was an excellent name to be born to. Her family was wealthy and prominent. The men were round and stolid, the women pretty and active. They were well respected. The Shire may not have held to a class system as extensive as men, but for what it was, the Sackville name was second only to Baggins.

There had never been a Sackville/Baggins marriage. Camellia's mother had high hopes of Camellia becoming the first. She had been an Allibone by birth. The Allibones* were a quiet, respectable family line. Not exceedingly wealthy, but not poor either. By nature, good folk, who sometimes aspired to be more than they ought. Camellia's mother had had quite the aspirations, and by virtue of her good looks and charisma, had managed to land herself a Sackville husband. Not only that, but the head of the Sackville Family.

Camellia's mother wanted even more for Camellia. She wanted Camellia to marry a Baggins. As the only child of the head of the Sackville family, Camellia would take her maiden name with her, creating a new family name, Sackville-Baggins, if she were to have any male children. This new family name could become even more important than the Baggins name alone - at least that was the hope of Camellia's mother, and Camellia herself.

They both had their eyes set on Bungo Baggins, oldest child and heir to the head of the Baggins Family.

In this they were not alone. Bungo was one of the most eligible bachelors in Hobbiton. Camellia's own dear friend Primrose Boffin had been one of the many women also set on Bungo, before she'd fallen for and married Blanco Bracegirdle. It was a good match for Primrose, but Camellia was determined to have better.

Bungo wasn't the only son of Mungo Baggins available, of course. He'd two brothers, Longo and Bingo. But Bingo was too young yet, and Longo was somewhat loud and abrasive - overly concerned with drinking and smoking with his friends, he'd shown little interest in courting. Whereas in addition to being the heir to the family head, Bungo was quiet, dedicated and completely respectable. He was the absolute image of his father and well liked by all who knew him.

Unfortunately, he was also completely and unabashedly in love with Belladonna Took.

Camellia did not see the appeal.

The Tooks were a good family, of course. The Thain was a Took, after all, and they were extremely prolific. But they were... different. Wild. They _traveled_. They went on _adventures_. They partied too much and too often. They encouraged reading about Elves and learning the ways of Men over sensible things like contracts, deeds and flower lore.

And Belladonna wasn't even the heir to her family name, as Camellia was. She was _ninth_ out of twelve children. Ninth. She had eight older brothers that took her hunting and fishing, kept her out on walking holidays and camped as close to the Old Forest as hey dared. Belladonna rarely did anything proper, such as weaving or stitching or tending her garden, as other hobbit maidens did. She only grudgingly attended the higher social functions, and had a nasty habit of joining the lads' drinking games, or smoking Old Toby with them.

Yet Bungo had been obsessed with her since they were children, and refused to look at anyone else.

It was a hopeful sign that Belladonna seemed oblivious to his attentions as they grew, and a more hopeful sign that Belladonna seemed to have rejected his courtship as they came of age. When Belladonna finally disappeared off on an adventure _alone_ with a band of male dwarves, that was all the lasses needed to start pursuing Bungo. Surely he must have written her off now.

Camellia made sure that she was the most obvious and persistent of Bungo's admirers. She embroidered soft pillows with his favorite birds, she invited him over for tea lovingly made entirely by herself. She even became good friends with Belba, Bungo's younger sister, spending long days in the Baggins gardens, lunching and gossiping, watching over the two littlest Baggins faunts, Linda and Bingo, to show Bungo just how domestic she was.

Bungo seemed oblivious to her every effort. Then, without warning, he began building his smial into the Hill in Hobbiton. It was a grand affair, a large dwelling to be sure, judging from the amount of earth being shot over the fall in the hill. Clearly, Bungo was making sure there would be enough room for a large family.

Camellia was sure that her tactic had worked. She'd shown him she could be a good wife and mother, and even though he'd not begun courting, he wouldn't be building such a wonderful smial had he not decided to take a wife, and she was the best candidate.

But then Bungo finished the grand smial. And it stood empty. He did not move in, and he made no gestures to begin courting anyone. The smial simply waited silently.

Belladonna returned to the Shire shortly after. Camellia had hoped to land Bungo before this happened. She knew if Belladonna returned well and unattached and in any way inclined to settle down, she would not have a chance. But to Camellia's delight, Belladonna returned obviously pregnant and in disgrace.

The rumours flew as quickly as lightning, and Camellia was glad to put her mouth to quite a few of them. Belba, who had always rather liked Belladonna for her brother's sake, turned her back on her old friend, and to Camellia's delight, began a heavy campaign in Camellia's favour.

It didn't faze Bungo an iota. He never even looked Camellia's way.

Within months of her return, Bungo was announcing that he and Belladonna would be married - to the disdain of absolutely everyone in his family. Bungo had a long, private talk with his parents, along with some of her Took relatives. Suddenly, they were on board. They watched Belladonna with sympathy instead of scorn, and hugged her, and publicly gave her their approval. 

And just as quickly as that, everything Camellia had worked so hard for crumbled into dust. Bungo and Belladonna married in the smallest ceremony Camellia thought they had ever had in the Shire, and moved into the newly christened Bag End.

Camellia had lost her prestigious name, the beautifully grand house, and her new prominent family line in one blow.

Jealousy flared in her breast and sat there, slowly churning.

As it turned out, Camellia's efforts in the Baggins household did not go completely unnoticed. She remained friends with Belba, and still spent a good amount of time with her. As Rudigar Bolgar scraped up the courage to start courting Belba, Camellia unexpectedly found herself at the center of the attentions of Longo.

She'd never seriously considered Longo as a partner. He seemed out of control and frivolous, given to fighting at the pub with his mates. Then little gifts started to appear for her from seemingly nowhere, and Longo began coming to parties and societal events, asking her to dance or chatting only with her. Camellia suddenly realized that she could still have some of her dreams for the future.

Longo built them a modest smial in Hobbiton. Camellia had been hoping for something much grander, along the lines of Bag End, but Longo revealed that Bungo had gone to the Took family for the money to build such a spectacular smial, all in hopes that it would win Belladonna's affections when she returned. On his own, Longo was not willing to spend that extravagantly on his home. 

Camellia had been bitterly disappointed, but still recognized that the benefits of joining the Baggins family far outweighed the upset of not getting the home she wanted. She accepted Longo's proposal, and threw the grandest wedding that she could manage, smug as she watched Bungo and Belladonna and their now three-year-old monster attend the kind of party they must surely have wanted for themselves.

Camellia had expected her bitter jealousy of Belladonna to die down now that she was married. Belladonna was still ostracized in all but name, and Camellia had practically everything she'd ever wanted. Only... Belladonna still had the great, grand house... the heir to the family line... and she and Bungo were so genuinely _happy_ with that harry little _spawn_ of Belladonna's...

The jealousy had twisted itself into hate.

She hated Belladonna. She hated Bungo. She even hated that bastard child, Bilbo.

She began to think everything would be perfect if only that family weren't so close in proximity, if only they would just leave on one of Belladonna's adventures forever - then Camellia and Longo could take over that beautiful smial that Camellia had once thought would be hers... that should have been hers... that should rightfully be hers.

The jealousy and hatred seethed within her.

It was three long years before Camellia Baggins was able to get pregnant. This again was something Belladonna had that Camellia resented. Her child had come ready-made for Bungo. Of course they'd not yet had one of their _own_ , but it did not seem to matter to Bungo. He loved that little half-dwarven freak fully as much as if it _had_ been his own. Even Camellia's best friend and greatest sympathizer, Primrose Bracegirdle, had had her first child, Bruno, over two years before. He was a strapping, handsome little lad, and exactly what Camellia hoped for her first child.

Perhaps it was somewhat fitting that Camellia's pregnancy fell upon her just before the worst winter any hobbit alive had seen. 

It left her in delicate health and temperament, and without many of the resources she required to make her comfortable - which put her into an even worse temper. What care had she that the trade roads were packed with ice and snow? She craved pickled vegetables, and fresh baked bread which she should not be put upon to bake - she was pregnant after all. Why should she be expected to sew her own pillows when she tired of her old ones? Her back hurt, and she bemoaned that she couldn't simply send Longo to the market for new ones. And what would the baby wear and sleep in when he arrived? It was simply inexcusable the inconveniences she was expected to endure. She was just thankful it would be months yet before her precious little one entered this cruel world.** 

Meanwhile, the Shire was growing more dangerous by the day. This winter was not only cold and snowy beyond any expectations, but it had lingered over a month beyond a proper winter, and showed no signs of breaking into spring. Families were coming to the end of their winter store with no way of replenishing their resources. Nearly everyone in the Shire had begun rationing a month prior and were coming up against the end of their supplies.

If that weren't enough, sickness had begun ravaging families. A terrible fever had begun sweeping parts of the Shire, and without proper herbs, water and food, many of the weakest - the old, the very young and the vulnerable - were dying.

Hardbottle was now seeing the fever cripple more and more families. Blanco Bracegirdle feared for his young son and his wife. He made the decision to journey to Hobbiton and stay with Longo Baggins. He told Primrose it was to help Camellia with her pregnancy through the tough winter, but Blanco was really terrified that his family would succumb to illness or worse.

Wolves had been seen in the Shire.

Wolves normally didn't venture into the grassy Shire hills. They didn't like the bustling activity of the people there, and there was more danger than reward for them. Hobbits did not normally make a tasty meal, and there was much better hunting elsewhere. Besides, Rangers generally patrolled the borders of the Shire, keeping predators of all sorts at bay. But the winter had been just as hard for the Rangers, and their ranks had fallen to sickness, too. The wolves, starving and desperate, made their way past borders they couldn't breach before, and began snatching cattle and ponies and sheep. And when they couldn't find animals, they began hunting Hobbits.

The reports of wolf attacks were as yet scarce, and Blanco hoped, exaggerated, but he had enough sense to realize the truth in them. It was going to get worse.

Hobbiton was further from the borders of the Shire. Further from the woods where the wolves could take cover as they stalked their prey. So far there had been no reports of illness. Perhaps they still had supplies the outlying settlements did not.

And so Blanco was going to seek refuge there. He packed up his family and what food and fuel they had left, and began the journey, rejoicing when at last they made it safely to the home of Longo Baggins. 

Longo and Camellia welcomed them graciously, but even combining the foodstuffs that the Bracegirdles had brought with what was left of the Baggins' food stores brought them up short. Especially as Camellia insisted she could not be rationed as she was eating for herself and the baby. Their supplies would not last them all long, but they would make it work, and pray for a break in the awful weather.

A fortnight brought no answer to their prayers, and they were beginning to run low on wood for the fires, candles and other necessities. Camellia stayed inside always, Primrose and Bruno by her side, but daily the men ventured outside to try scavenging for wood dry enough to burn, or vegetation hidden under the snow. 

Normally during winter there was still much to be gleaned from the land: roots and winter vegetables, timber, mushrooms, small winter animals that could be hunted if needed - even ice was brought inside for certain special wintertime treats. The snows and ice during this prolonged winter, however, had stamped out many of those resources, and what little was left was being searched out by nearly everyone. A day's foraging resulted in two half-frozen men returning, exhausted, with mere handfuls of frozen grasses, or a few soggy branches, or once a small rabbit which had rejoiced them all.

Then the eerie howls of wolves began mixing in with the rushing winds. Each night, the howls grew closer, making a journey outside to forage more dangerous by the day. They dared not venture out too far in fear of being attacked, yet they'd thoroughly scavenged the lands nearby. They were almost out of actual food, and had already started setting aside items in the house made of vegetation or leather, that might be eaten in desperation. Tables had been broken down for firewood, and beds and chairs would go next.

A knock on the door in these paranoid, dreary times startled them all. It was Belladonna bearing a small basket of grain and preserved vegetables. She explained that she and Bungo had, from the first of their marriage, begun stockpiling food in the large cellars that Bungo had built into Bag End. Belladonna's journey with the dwarves had taught her a great deal about the realities of starvation, and it was something she did not want her family or herself to ever experience again. Belladonna had become a food hoarder, buying three of something when she only needed one, striking up deals with the merchants to buy grains in bulk, growing and preserving more fruits and vegetables than her family alone would ever be able to eat. 

It was a habit that had initiated many of the worst fights she and Bungo had ever had.

As it turned out, it was a habit that was saving their lives. Thus far, the family had no need to ration their food, and still hadn't made a significant dent in their pantry.

They'd started a month before giving food to the poorer families who lived along Bagshot Row, but it had come to their attention that Bungo's brother and sister-in-law might be in need as well. Belladonna did not want to offend the family she had such a precarious relationship with, but she had not seen the men out for days, and she was worried. So she packed only a small basket as a visiting gift.

Now, seeing that two families were trying to live off the dwindling resources of one, her compassionate heart drove her forward. There was plenty of room for them all at Bag End, and there was plenty of food as well. They should come and stay at Bag End until this horrible winter had passed.

Camellia's bitter heart and wounded pride wouldn't allow this to go easily. Her house, she protested, might be invaded during their absence, scavenged and picked clean of all that was inside. What if wolves found entrance and lay in wait for their return? What if snow collapsed the hole, or caused leaks that ruined her home? 

The lists of reasons she simply could not leave seemed endless, and Camellia was growing quite hysterical so she went on. It took some time for her husband to soothe her and Primrose to escort her to the bed in the next room to lie down. Pregnancy, the men explained, had made her a little weak of constitution. Belladonna graciously accepted the blatant obfuscation, and then proposed that Camellia's delicate health, and the well-being of the Bracegirdles' child might hold up better in their smial, where warmth and food were readily available. Perhaps Camellia's concern for her home could be addressed by the two men staying behind to care for the house - with extra supplies of course.

This plan suited and was agreed upon without further consultation, and the women's things were packed up to go to Bag End. Camellia and Primrose were both filled with spite towards Belladonna for forcing them thus, but they realized that it may be the only way to survive the winter, and they both had little ones to think of. Truly it was only Camellia that considered Belladonna such an enemy, but Primrose was a loyal friend and easily influenced, and when Camellia was unhappy and spiteful towards someone, Primrose followed suit.

Upon reaching Bag End, Camellia, Primrose and Bruno were settled into two guest rooms. After preparing a light meal for them and making sure they were warm enough, Belladonna left Bilbo in their care and went out again to bear food and firewood back to Longo and Blanco. Bungo was still out helping a family in a smial beneath them shore up part of their home that had sustained damage from the ice.

They both were taking significant risks, going out in the weather with the threat of wolves hanging over their heads, yet the goodness of their hearts drove them to do it, along with many of the other healthy adults in the Shire. The only way to survive would be to band together as long as they could, to stand as hobbits and rise to the challenge. Even in trying times, a hobbit's sense of community was strong, and their need to see to the well-being of others, stronger. It was one of the great qualities of the hobbit race.

Although there were certainly exceptions. Warm, well-fed and comfortable, Camellia Baggins now turned her jaundiced heart toward the only thing she had left to resent - little Bilbo, who'd been left in her care.

She wasn't a babysitter, she groused at Primrose, who sympathized. She was in such delicate health herself, and she was separated from her home and husband, and now she was expected to take care of this horrible brat while his parents flounced about outdoors? What exactly was she to do with the mutant half-breed, who would no doubt be needy and misbehaved?

The mutant half-breed in question had brought some of his toys into the room to share with little Bruno, and was sitting quietly, listening to every word Camellia said. The baby was still too young to understand much, but Bilbo was six and very bright. His aunt's words confused and hurt him, and he did not know what to make of her ire. Did she dislike kids? But mama had told him that she would have a baby of her own in a few months. She kept saying that they were behaving badly, but Bilbo was keeping little Bruno quiet - he even let him chew on his nicest wooden horse, and shushed him when the baby's babbling got too loud.

Maybe she was sick. Whenever he was feeling sick, Mama would wrap him up in a warm blanket, give him some hot soup and sing him to sleep. Bilbo couldn't make her any soup. He was **not allowed** to touch sharp things or hot things. He had tried to help Mama cut vegetables once, and cut his hand badly before she realized he had a knife. His hand had to be sewn back together, and it hurt _forever_.

So no soup. Besides, Mrs. Bracegirdle was already making tea. And Aunt Camellia already had Mama's nicest, warmest blanket on her knees, so another blanket wouldn't help.

Bilbo decided to sing her a cheery-up song. He stood up in front of her, gave her his sweetest smile, and started singing his favorite song - the one Mama always sang when he felt sad or hurt.

Bruno giggled and clapped his pudgy little hands.

Camellia did not.

Camellia watched in disgust as Belladonna's spawn stood in front of her and started _screeching_ at her. What was the little beast doing that for? Did he have to have all the attention on him at all times? The selfishness of the thing took her breath away and anger started to turn her face red.

"What's wrong with you?" She burst out, finally, startling the faunt into silence, "stop that noise right this instant. This is terrible behaviour, you bad little boy!"

Bilbo couldn't help the tears stinging at his eyelids at her harsh words. Bad? Did he sing it wrong? Did he skip some words?

Camellia noticed the tears, and her words became mocking. "And now the little babe must cry, right? Just because you did not get your way. Big hobbit lads don't cry, Bilbo. Not that you'd know much about that, would you?"

Bilbo was confused and hurt, and could not help a few tears slipping free.

Camellia had no sympathy as she watched tears slip down the child's face. Her heart was absolutely hardened by years of jealousy and resentment.

"No more of that, now," Camellia said, sternly, "you wouldn't want me to tell your mama how bad you are, now would you?"

Bilbo's eyes grew wide and he went quite pale as he desperately shook his head no. He loved his mother above all else in the world. He couldn't stand the thought of disappointing her. When she had left earlier, she told him to be a good boy for his aunt and their other guests. He had really tried, but apparently he was being bad. Mama would be so sad and upset when she got home. She would look at him with those sad eyes and say, "Bilbo, I'm very disappointed with you," as she did when he disobeyed her. And Da would come home and sit on his bed and say sternly, "Do you know what you did wrong?" and then he would make Bilbo work with him the next day, or make Bilbo stay in his room, or take away Bilbo's dessert. While Bilbo secretly loved working with his Da, he hated his other punishments. And he always worked extra hard no matter what to be good after that, so Mama would look at him with happy, sparkling eyes and Da would cuddle him on his lap and tell him stories by the fire.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo whispered to his aunt, trying desperately to hold back further tears, "please don't tell. I'll be good, I promise."

Camellia watched her nephew become increasingly upset at the thought of displeasing his parents, and suddenly knew she had stumbled upon exactly the right tool to hold over the lad.

"Hush now," her voice was suddenly soothing, magnanimous in the wake of her discovery and newly forming plans, "Your mother need not be told as long as you learn to behave properly."

"I will, I promise!" Little Bilbo cried out in trusting belief, "I'll do whatever you say!"

Primrose returned to the room with a simple spread for tea to find Bilbo sitting silently in a chair by the fireplace, and Camellia with Bruno on her lap tickling his toes. Primrose smiled to find her friend in such better temper.

Thus began Camellia Baggins's campaign against the most vulnerable member of the family she so hated. It was delightfully easy to manipulate her trusting little nephew who felt adults could do no wrong. He believed every word that came out of her mouth.

Daily now, Bungo and Belladonna braved the cold, snows and constant threat of wolves to help who they could in Hobbiton, leaving their dearest treasure in treacherous hands. Each day that Bilbo was in her care, Camellia subtly chipped away at the child's self esteem and sense of belonging, Primrose Bracegirdle her unwitting conspirator. 

Every mistake little Bilbo made was met with harsh criticism and the reinforcement that he was a bad boy and a bad son. When his voice raised above a soft murmur, he was berated for shouting. When he whispered, he was called inconsiderate and told to speak up. When he mispronounced a word, Camellia declared she hoped her own son wouldn't be as stupid. When he moved too fast he was yelled at for running. When he moved too slow he was dressed down for his sloth.

And when he wasn't being criticized for his behaviour, Camellia was loudly discussing with Primrose just how _different_ he was. "Aren't his feet small, Primrose? Where do you suppose he got such wee tiny feet?" She'd ask when she knew Bilbo was listening, "Do you think my babe should have such little feet and such thick arms and legs? Not to mention his round, _round_ , ears. I should be disgraced."

Slowly the child became quiet and withdrawn. He learned to sit still and stay silent unless he was needed. He learned that he was useless. He learned that he was different, that he didn't belong. Worst of all, he learned to doubt his parents' love for him.

His stomach hurt, now, all the time. He was filled with fear of doing something that would upset the adults around him. His nerves were on a knife's edge. He no longer felt like eating, and only made the effort when an adult noticed and chided him. His chest felt like an oliphunt was sitting upon it. He constantly wanted to cry, but he was forbidden to by aunt Camellia, who would surely tell his parents that he was a babe still, and they would cease to love him entirely.

It was the one thing he couldn't stand to think about, losing his parents' love. He knew they still loved him a little. Each night they returned and ate supper all together with their guests, then they took Bilbo to their room and snuggled him between them and asked about his day and told him about theirs. In between the stories, they kissed him and tickled him and told him that they loved him.

Which made Bilbo want to cry even harder. Even though he was slow, and weird and ungrateful, they still loved him. Or maybe they just didn't know how awful he was. Aunt Camellia had said she hadn't told them how bad Bilbo was each day. Yet. Bilbo was desperately afraid that one day she would tell them, and they would find out just what a bad faunt he was, and they would stop loving him.

So he hid away his tears and smiled for the adults. He only cried - silently - when he was absolutely sure no one else could see him. All his sadness and hurt was bottled up inside, and kept secret from everyone else. All too soon, he became a ghost of the little boy he had been.

Belladonna and Bungo were neither too busy, nor too stupid to see that something was terribly wrong with their only child. A great shadow seemed to have overtaken their bubbly and bright little lad. Each day he seemed only to get quieter and more morose. 

Their initial belief was that this unrelenting winter was simply taking its toll on the boy. He was stuck inside all day, every day. The skies were often grey and the light dim. Storms and blizzards were frequent. The fear of disease and attack was all around them. Honestly, they had long been expecting some amount of depression to seep into Bilbo's mind.

But Bilbo had been so amazingly cheerful and optimistic for so long. He'd given them new hope every day. He inspired them.

It was painful to watch that change so quickly.

Maybe he was missing them, as for the first time he was left home without either of them. They'd always gone out one at a time before, the other staying behind to take care of Bilbo. Now they both went out for much of the day.

So after dinner, they made a special effort to make that Bilbo's time. They holed up in their room, lit the fireplace, and cuddled him within an inch of his life. This was the time when they caught up on each others' days. When Belladonna and Bungo took turns kissing their baby's cheeks and tickling his arms and legs in hopes of a giggle. When they curled up together and told each other how much they loved each other, and how much they always would.

They loved this special time with their son, but they couldn't erase the sadness from him completely, and he would not tell them what was wrong.

No matter their efforts, Bilbo continued to wither.

Seeing the lost, sad look on his face broke their hearts, and they were quite helpless to do anything about it. It was still much too dangerous to take him out of doors with them, and the need of some of the poorer hobbits was only increasing. The supplies they distributed and the repairs and other things they and other able-bodied hobbits had been doing had saved the lives of many of their friends and neighbours.

They would simply have to keep going and hope that the weather would break soon. Then they could take Bilbo out of doors and let him rejoice in nature once again. Then they could spend all day with him for days and try to puzzle out what was hurting him so. 

But, oh, it was so horribly difficult to wait.

They never suspected that the guests they'd so kindly opened their homes to would betray them by harming their child.

Perhaps they might eventually have come to ferret out the truth. But happiness was not on their side this winter. A series of blizzards were driving the wolves further and further into the Shire, and into Hobbiton. The danger around them was increasing exponentially.

One day Bungo went out, and never came back.

When Belladonna returned that evening, she found Bilbo, gave him a hug, and handed him three small rag dolls, attached at the hands, which had been made by the oldest daughter of the family she'd gone to help that morning. She'd brought them supplies before and refused any kind of payment. They were grateful, and wanted to do something nice in return. The oldest daughter happened to sew beautifully, and there wasn't a lot else to do during the day when stuck inside. So she found some scraps of material and got started. What she ended up with were very recognizable Bungo, Belladonna and Bilbo dolls, which she attached at the hands to show they were a loving family. This, she handed Belladonna that day and bade her give to Bilbo.

Belladonna was happy to receive such a gift from the heart, and knew that Bilbo would love it too. She gave it to her sad one, sitting obediently in his little chair by the fireplace. He looked at it and recognized the figures, and his eyes lit up as he looked up at his mother. Belladonna knelt beside him and told him that any time he was sad, he could look at these dolls and see just how much his parents loved him. She was rewarded by a brilliant smile, the sort she hadn't seen in weeks. Her heart was filled with love, and she couldn't wait until after supper when she and Bungo and Bilbo had their special time together. Maybe things were looking up.

On that note, Belladonna went to help Primrose prepare their supper, as normal. But as they sat down to eat, Bungo did not appear. And it had gotten dark. He always made it back before it got dark.

Supper passed, Bungo still didn't arrive home, and Belladonna was getting worried. She took Bilbo to their room alone and cuddled him and reassured him that his Da would be home soon, and she tried hard to clamp down on the sensation that something was terribly wrong.

She put Bilbo to bed on her own, and sat by the window, gazing out through the snows, hoping for any sight of him, but Bungo still did not appear. 

It must be, she reasoned, that he stayed too long at another's smial and knew it would be dangerous to go out at night. He was safe, he just wasn't here.

Something about that didn't feel right to her, but there was nothing else for it. She fell into a troubled sleep still trying to convince herself that all was well.

The next day she found out all was not, for Bungo had left the smial he'd been helping to repair before dusk, and should have made it back well before dark. Everyone who was well and available began searching for Bungo, but they found his handkerchief and walking stick along the road, and nothing else.

That night, Belladonna sat alone by her window once again and cried, listening the the eerie howls of wolves so close they seemed just outside her doors. She would never know just how close to the truth she was.

They searched for a day and a half for Bungo before the sky opened up, and a blizzard to end all blizzards converged upon them, forcing everyone to go inside and stay there.

Camellia was steaming mad. Bungo's disappearance had taken everyone's attention. His little brat no longer hung on her cruel words, and mostly ignored her as he sat by the windows, hoping to see his parents. Primrose had taken to hugging and cuddling him, reassuring Bilbo that things would be fine. When Belladonna arrived home morose, Primrose had immediately attended to her, fixing her a warm cup of tea, and trying to get her to eat something. Camellia deeply resented that. Primrose was _her_ friend, not Belladonna's. 

All of that was bearable when Belladonna left to go searching, but then the Blizzard started, and Belladonna was forced indoors. She didn't lift a finger to help Camellia, who was having slight pains in her back and knees and wanted someone to bring her luncheon and extra pillows. Belladonna seemed almost dazed, and mostly she just hugged Bilbo and stared out the window, waiting for a break in the weather. She had the nerve to ignore Camellia's complaining, and had Primrose waiting on her hand and foot. And she cried constantly. It was sickening.

After two days, Camellia couldn't take it anymore, this had to be stopped. She resorted to doing something so evil, even she would not have believed it of herself.

"Bilbo," she gasped suddenly one evening, when Belladonna had left the room to fetch some toast for Camellia, "what's that?"

"What's what, auntie?" Bilbo asked morosely.

"That noise! Why... I think it was your father's voice. Yes, I'm sure of it. Don't tell me you can't hear him! Are you that bad of a son?" Camellia was hard pressed to keep the sneer out of her voice.

"No, No!" Bilbo cried out, desperate both for his aunt's approval and the return of his father, "I hear him, too, I do. Only... Only he's outside, isn't he?"

Bilbo could not have fallen more perfectly into her trap.

"Run and tell your mum, little one. There are wolves about. Surely he must be injured and need help to get back inside."

Bilbo did not hesitate. He barreled into the next room, "Mama! Mama mama mama! Da is outside!"

Belladonna was astonished. "My darling, what is this, now?" 

"Da is outside, mama. He's hurt he needs help. Auntie heard him!" Then he added in guilty rush, "so did I. We have to go and get him."

"Is this true," Belladonna gasped, rushing to the next room, "Camellia, is it true, you've heard him, my Bungo?"

"As the child said," Camellia reassured her, "Though truthfully, I cannot be completely sure. His voice was so faint and the wolves so loud."

"I may have heard him too," Primrose chimed in, in support of her friend and out of want to be a part of it.

Belladonna stood stock still, hope and fear and desperation and determination all warring over her features.

"But Belladonna, dear, the wolves are so close. Right here. Even if it was Bungo, it isn't safe, not for any of us." Primrose worried.

Belladonna's face started to harden with determination. Camellia did not miss it, saying slyly, "Oh no, you mustn't go out there _now_ to rescue him. Surely it would only mean your own death."

Belladonna would listen to no more.

"I will go, no matter what, and I will bring him home."

And with a quick hug for her son, she donned her winter garb and rushed outside to meet her fate.

She would never return either.

Sometime during the night, her scream would echo through Hobbiton, piercing the walls of Bag End, and the hearts of Camellia, waiting calmly by the fire in the drawing room, and Bilbo, huddled under his thick blankets, too scared to sleep.

Bilbo would run sobbing to his aunt for comfort which he would never receive. Instead, he would be met with harsh glares and accusing words.

"Did you hear that, Bilbo?" Camellia growled at him, never looking away from the fire. "That was your mother's scream. She's dead now. The wolves have eaten her."

Bilbo backed away in mute horror. No. It couldn't be true. She couldn't be eaten by wolves.

Camellia guessed his thoughts, "yes, Bilbo. Because of you, wolves have attacked her, bit her, chewed her up and killed her."

"Me?" Bilbo could barely get the word out in his panicked hyperventilation.

"Who told your mother that your father was outside? You Bilbo. You told her you heard your father. You told her to go outside. It is your fault, Bilbo. You killed your mother!"

Bilbo choked, sobbing furiously. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry," he gasped between sobs, "No mama, I'm sorry sorry sorry."

"Your apologies mean nothing, Bilbo." Camellia's voice was cut stone, "You are a bad, bad little boy. The worst little boy I know. You are not wanted here anymore. You don't belong here, you've never belonged here. Bag End is not your home anymore. Get out."

With that, she picked up a knitted shawl and the child's family of dolls and shoved them into his arms, literally pushing the hysterical faunt out the front door and into the cold, cruel night. She watched as he stumbled forwards through snow drifts as tall as he, scarcely able to move as the howling winds fought to toss him to the ground. Soon he passed out of sight, and Camellia let out a sigh of relief and glee.

She hummed softly as she left the door open a crack and moved about the room, putting out the fire and heading towards her own room. In the morning, Primrose would find the door opened slightly and assume that Bilbo left on his own to find his missing parents. By the time the snows would clear enough to gather a search party, there could be no doubt that all three would have perished. Camellia was rid of them forever, and eventually Bag End would be hers.

As she slipped beneath warm sheets and listened to the burning logs crackle in the room's fireplace, she smirked to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Allibone family line is my invention, based on a manuscript of the Hobbit where the Sackville-Baggins were originally named the Allibone Baggins. This was done for two reasons, (1) Camellia's parents are a total canon blank. We have literally no information about them or what families they descended from, except that her father was a Sackville. And (2) it was difficult for me to find a middle-high class family line for Camellia's mother that wouldn't eventually inbreed Otho or Lotho. Of course if anyone deserved to be inbred, it was probably them, but this solved that problem nicely.
> 
> **Camellia is the equivalent of about four months human gestation at this point. Her stomach would be showing a little, certainly her hormones would still be going a bit crazy, but she would not be impaired, unable to move around or do her normal activities. Camellia is spoiled and uses her pregnancy to justify to herself her own selfishness.


	4. A Wintry Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live!
> 
> All my apologies for taking so very long between chapters. I have been working on them all this time. But life, and my muse, often have a way of foiling me.
> 
> As an apology, I am updating with two chapters at once. I did not do this on purpose, but as much as I tried not to end the chapter here, it refused to be ended any other way. I'm sorry.
> 
> These are not especially happy chapters. There will be happy chapters soon enough, with more fluff than you could pack into a pillow. But we have a little ways yet to go.

Thorin and his company soon found out just how wrong they had been about this winter. What had been mild at the Lonely Mountain was becoming downright dangerous the closer they found themselves to the Shire. Storms were frequent, as were packs of wargs and wolves. They'd even had to fend off roaming bandits taking advantage of vulnerable travelers.

Vulnerable was not a word often used to describe a band of angry dwarves.

They didn't relish the feeling.

By and by they made it to the borders of the Shire. The rolling green hills had been transformed into a vast expanse of white. The early spring air was not peppered by bird song or children's laughter. Rather, the eerie silence was punctured only by the howl of wolves calling to each other and the raging winds. The heavily falling snow was so thick, they would not have been able to tell which hills were simply hills, and which were hobbit smials, but for some wisps of smoke rising from white mounds.

Then, disturbingly, they began to find bodies. Some were mangled or skeletonized, clearly victims of the wolves the dwarves could hear so clearly. Others were whole, dumped out into the fields. Oin's brief examination of one concluded that he'd likely died of infectious disease, and recently.

The dwarves made sure to stay well away from any bodies they passed.

They did not see any living people.

Dread filled the hearts of each member of the company. Was it possible that most, if not all, hobbits had died here of disease or famine? Was that why no one at all was out of doors, even for a few moments of the day? What would they find when they finally reached their burglaress?

This was a question that weighed heavily on Gandalf's heart as he led them deeper into the Shire. He held a deep, special fondness for the hobbit race. He'd visited generations of the hearty, tenacious people. He'd grown to deeply admire their cleverness and fortitude. Why, the clever, practical little race had invented a way to actually track time through mechanized devices.* Even the elves did not have such a thing, though to be fair, the immortal didn't notice the passage of time so closely as others. Men and dwarves tracked time as well, but crudely, and based on the sun and stars. Hobbits had actually found a way to wind cogs together so that they would slip apart in precise increments, creating a way to keep time by hour and minute. They didn't just meet at noon, when the sun was high, they'd take tea at four and 30, according to the clock. (Eventually, it shortened to "o'clock"-for convenience of course.)

Hobbits were creatures of comfort. If it was uncomfortable, they would make it comfortable. If it was already comfortable, they'd make it more so. They worked hard, yes, but hard work beget a relaxing afternoon smoke in the sun, good hearty meals six or seven times a day, and the joy of setting back and enjoying their fair land. If a device could make their lives easier, why they'd just invent it, then promptly take it for granted as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. 

It was a quality that seemed wholly unique to the race of hobbits, and one that Gandalf found infinitely endearing. He'd found his visits to the Shire to be refreshing - a bit of goodness in a world that was so easily corrupted. He'd gone to great lengths in the past to ensure that these creatures of simple comforts would remain in many ways innocent, at least as long as they chose to live in this way.

Seeing the emptiness of this once vibrant community, Gandalf wondered if those efforts had ruined the race. During this long, harsh winter, nothing would've been comfortable. Had the Hobbits actually buckled under and collapsed along with their comforts? Had they wholly forgotten the wandering hardships of generations past, and given in to death?

The weight of guilt began to set heavily upon Gandalf's shoulders, the closer they came to Bag End.

The dwarves did not feel such guilt, but they did feel horror and sorrow at the deaths of so many of the race that housed their burglar. Spatters of smoke rising from the snowy hills here and there gave them hope that not all had perished in distress, but they worried for the fate of one who held a dear place in their hearts.

It was when they approached what Gandalf said to be Belladonna's new home, that they finally came across a living being out in the open. It was a heavily bundled, weary, armed hobbit, who appeared to have been searching fruitlessly for something or someone in the unrelenting snow, and looked ready to fight the approaching band of dwarves to his death. Gandalf motioned the company to stop, as he moved forward cautiously, peering into the mostly hidden face of the hobbit. It took a moment before he finally figured out who he was looking at.

"Longo Baggins?" Gandalf questioned.

The hobbit startled back, then recognized Gandalf for who he was. "Oh, Gandalf. Thank all that is good that you are here. We are in such desperate need."

"What has happened here, Longo?"

"Can you not see? This has been a cruel winter. The Brandywine has frozen and we are at constant threat of wolves, not to mention starvation and plague. Bungo was lost days ago. We've found nothing of him but trinkets along the roadway, and few could venture out in this blizzard. And now...and now..." The hobbit's voice broke as a bout of shivering overtook him.

"Belladonna is lost to us too. Last night. She thought she heard his voice and left the smial, and wolves were about all night. We fear the worst."

There was a sudden roar from among the dwarves, pain and regret and anger all rolled into one, as Thorin charged forward. "You let her out by herself in this blizzard? Where is the search party? Why has she not been found?"

Longo bristled in anger. "Just who do you think can search? We're all sick and half starved and there's been nothing but storm after storm for days. There's few enough anymore who've the strength and wit to go out when the winds are calm and the wolves howl far to the east. In this snow and wind, there aren't many who can endure. I'm the search party. Myself, and..."

A shout was heard in the distance to their right, followed by a devastating cry. "Blood! Longo! Fresh!"

It was difficult to hear or be heard through the rough winds, so Blanco Bracegirdle's cry was reduced to single words. He gave the shout again a moment later.

Thorin and his company wasted no time charging toward the sound of the second voice. Longo had really reached the limits of his endurance to the cold, and was quickly headed toward the frozen daze.** Gandalf took the poor hobbit's arm and led him to the Baggins' smial, followed by Oin, who had noticed the symptoms. They arrived to find Longo's wife, Camellia, sitting by the fire under a blanket with a warm shawl wrapped around her shoulders, drinking some tea. As the small group burst through the door, she started up, and seeing the condition of her husband, immediately started fussing.

"What have you done to him?" She accused, pushing the poor hobbit down to the ground before the fire, and thrusting her cup of tea in his hand. Worriedly, she wrapped the blanket about her husband, causing the poor man to almost drop the tea she'd forced on him.

"Come now," Gandalf said, a bit of condensation colouring his tone, "you know very well _we've_ done nothing but bring Longo in from the cold."

Camellia felt an icy shiver run up and down her spine. She knew very well who Gandalf was, knowing him instantly when he entered Bag End. She recognized the dwarf for what he was as well. Clearly the two had come looking for Belladonna. Could Gandalf sense what she'd done? Could he actually know? No one in the Shire actually knew what his powers were, really, other than making fireworks for celebrations. If he could read minds, or sense ill-will...

Well Camellia hadn't actually _done_ anything to Belladonna. She'd only _suggested_ hearing Bungo outside. And when asked, Primrose would no doubt verify that Camellia had warned Belladonna not to leave. And Bilbo.. well there was no witness to that. As far as anyone knew, he'd run away in the middle of the night, all on his own, to search for his mother. She couldn't be blamed for that. Not unless Bilbo himself were to say something, and in all likelihood both he and Belladonna had perished in the snow. So she should be safe. Camellia relaxed fractionally.

Camellia may have hoped that the momentary turmoil didn't show in her face, but her hopes would have been dashed. To Gandalf, Hobbits were emotional open books to be easily read. They were not taught to hide away their thoughts and feelings as other races might, and they'd no great skill at lying. Most hobbits said what they meant and meant what they said, and didn't much care what anyone else thought of them. Even giving false compliments was not sneakily done, as only the most dense could not see the falsity of it, and take it as the insult it was. So Gandalf noticed the trouble and guilt that crossed Camellia's face, and stored it away. Whatever had caused that look would be revealed in time.

Now would not be the time, however, as Blanco Bracegirdle rushed in, followed by Ori, Nori and Dwalin, who was carrying a small limp figure in his arms.

"Oin, quickly. Is there a warm room?" Dwalin growled.

Primrose appeared from seemingly nowhere, gasped at the unconscious hobbit Dwalin held, then quickly stammered, "I...in here. My fire is still.. is still lit. But let me just get my son... let me get Bruno out first." Her voice was breathy with shock, as she hurriedly ran back into the room, and pulled her son into her arms, covering his face as Dwalin and Oin ran into the room. Moments later Dwalin reappeared asking for some herbs, cloth and water. Primrose handed Bruno over to Blanco, who took Longo's place by the fire. Together, Primrose and Longo set about gathering the herbs and supplies. They did not have all of what Oin needed, but they hoped it would be enough. As Dwalin disappeared back into the room, they heard the sound of a hunting horn. Ori was using it to call in the rest of their party.

It did not take long for them to arrive, breathless, demanding information. Gandalf attempted to make introductions, but the dwarves were too antsy to do more than politely nod when they were named. Following a hunch, Gandalf decided to introduce Thorin as King Under the Mountain. He noted the look of awe at the presence of a king and then sudden unease that crossed Camellia's face at the introduction. Yes. Something was definitely amiss.

Presently, Oin emerged from the room, his face grim.

"Thorin," he said, "you should probably come in here."

Thorin moved into the room in a daze. On the bed lay a small figure, cocooned in blankets, propped up by pillows. Alarmingly, a spot of blood was seeping through the blankets, and there was no movement from the bed, except the shallow rise and fall of the small chest. Dwalin knelt next to the bed, large hand engulfing the small head it rested upon.

"What... Is..." Thorin wasn't sure what he was trying to ask.

Oin's expression was sorrowful. "Belladonna lives still, my king, but not for long. She asked for you. There isn't much time. You must say what you will quickly." 

Thorin was by her side in a moment, not noticing Oin vacating the room and Dwalin moving to stand sentinel by the door. Kneeling by the bed, Thorin carefully took her hand in his and kissed it. Belladonna's eyes opened slowly, mouthing something, before they came to rest on Thorin. Her eyes slowly focused on his face, then widened.

"T... Thorin..." her voice was barely audible, "is it you?"

"Yes, my love. It is me, and me at last truly. The madness has finally left me."

Belladonna's lips slowly turned upwards into a ghost of a smile. "Truly?"

Thorin nodded, tears welling into his eyes.

Her smile widened and there were tears in her eyes as well. "At last," she breathed, "at last."

"Hush, my little love," Thorin said softly, stroking the hair back from her face, "you need to save your strength."

Belladonna closed her eyes sadly, "...no need," she sighed.

Thorin gripped her hand tighter in denial, "Yes! Yes, Belladonna. You must hold on. You must recover." He was choking on the words. 

"Oh Thorin," she sighed again, her chest rattling as her lungs worked harder to pull in air, "I... I... won't. I'm... sorry..." Talking was getting more difficult, and she could feel herself struggling to keep her focus. "Thorin... Tho... everything... depends... on you, now. Bilbo, he... he will... need you."

Thorin felt fear rip its way up his spine. Her eyes had lost their focus as she was staring at nothing across the room. "Who is Bilbo?" 

Belladonna's eyes were still unfocused as they began scanning the room. "He... is out... there. I... saw... him... out... there." Her voice was fading.

"Who, my love?" Thorin shook her hands, desperate to draw her attention back to him.

"Belladonna!"

She turned unfocused eyes back on him. "...Thorin...?" She gasped, "...dream...?"

He was losing her. His heart was breaking.

"No," he choked out, "I'm not a dream. I'm really here."

Thorin dropped her hands and gently cupped her face, looking into her eyes. "My love, listen to me now, please. Hear me now. I am so very, very sorry. For everything. Everything." Tears were now falling unabashedly from his eyes, "What I've done is unforgivable. I was sick, but that's no excuse. Not for hurting you, my one, my only love. I would take back everything if I could. I am so sorry. So sorry."

Belladonna eyes were focused on him, her mouth twitched into a tiny smile. She brought her hand up to rest on his.

"I... forgive..."

"No!" Thorin sobbed. "No, you should not forgive me. I do not deserve it."

Belladonna's smile grew wider, with just a hint of mischief. "...too... bad... ...forgave... long... long... ago..."

"I do not deserve it," Thorin repeated, finding her hand and kissing it again.

"...I love... you..." she said, "...always." She blinked, and began to lose her focus once more, "...just... as I... love... I... love..."

Her eyes closed again.

"Bilbo!" her eyes flew open with sudden strength. "I saw him! I saw... him out... out... there...Thorin... you... must save... him..."

"Who is Bilbo?" Thorin asked again. "Your new husband?"

"No... no... not husb... baby. My... son." Belladonna looked straight into his eyes. "Our... son..."

Thorin lost the ability to breathe. " _Our_ son? _My_ son?"

Belladonna just smiled, unable to summon the strength to speak again.

"Belladonna, are you saying that you bore me a son?" He couldn't believe it. It was more than he'd dared hope, even back at the beginning of their marriage, when he'd dreamed of taking his throne with his wife at his side. He hadn't known if dwarves and hobbits could even have children together, and he wasn't much sure he cared. He had heirs already in his sister's sons, and finding his One was worth any sacrifice. 

But this, this changed everything.

A child. His child. Belladonna's child.

It was a miracle.

"Oh, Belladonna. A son. This is wonderful, my love. You are won..."

Belladonna's eyes were closed and she was frighteningly still.

"Belladonna. Belladonna?" He shook her gently, then with more force. "Belladonna!"

She wasn't breathing.

She wasn't breathing.

"No! No no no no no no no..."

She wasn't breathing.

"Please no."

She wasn't breathing.

His world shattered. Grief swallowed him whole. 

He clutched her body to him and buried his face in her hair. He wept bitterly, and everything else fell away for a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been beautifully illustrated by [ C_RIE_ativity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/C_RIE_ativity) [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6837127). Please check it out. It's wonderfully done.
> 
>  
> 
> *Bilbo has a clock on his mantlepiece in the book. The dwarves leave him a note beneath it, telling him where to meet up with them. In pre-technology Middle Earth, clocks would have been mechanical wonders. Yet, they were everyday devices to the hobbits.
> 
> ** Longo's "Frozen daze" is referencing hypothermia.


	5. Each new beginning comes from another beginning's end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: I have updated two chapters (4 and 5) this time. So if you feel a little lost when reading this, you may have to go back one and catch up.

The Company watched with apprehension as Thorin spoke briefly with Oin, then disappeared into the room. Oin shut the door behind him and sighed.

He shook his head grimly at their inquiring looks. "We must give him this time, lads. He has much to tell her, and I fear she will not survive the night."

Primrose promptly burst into tears, which caused Bruno to start wailing. Blanco rose from his warm place to embrace his wife and move the three of them out of the room. Longo felt his knees go weak, and he braced himself on the back of the armchair his wife was seated in, reaching down to clutch her hand in his, devastated by the news of his sister-in-law.

Gandalf's eyes closed in disbelief and pain.

The Company reacted with varying degrees of horror.

"Is there nothing at all we can do?" Balin asked solemnly.

"I'm afraid not," Oin replied, "She was attacked by wolves. She must have fought them off, but not before she was severely injured. And afterward she lay in the cold for some time. I honestly do not know how she fought off death this long. She is strong, our burglar, but this is stronger."

"Burglar?" Longo asked.

"Did she not tell you?" Dori wondered. "Did she not tell you of her adventures with us?"

Camellia snorted. "As if any decent hobbit would want to hear of _those_ sort of adventures, master dwarf. I don't know about you and your kind, but we are respectable folks."

The dwarves were dumbfounded. What was she going on about? Their burglar was a hero.

"Respectable? Pardon me, but what is not respectable in helping us recover our home?" Balin asked, displeasure colouring his words. "Certainly she was hired as a burglar, but only to help us steal back our home from the dragon."

"Dragon?" Longo was confused, "lost home?"

"Aye. Erebor," Gloin contributed, "The Lonely Mountain, as some call it. It was stolen from us by Smaug, but six years ago we journeyed there with the lass, and fought the dragon and a goblin army, and recovered our home."

"Surely she must have spoken of it. It has been six years." Dori looked puzzled. Their burglar had not ever been particularly secretive.

Longo looked a bit dazed. "No," he said, quietly, "She's never really explained what happened while she was away. Not to us. Maybe to Bungo."

"What does it _matter_?" Camellia sneered, "Coming back in her condition." She redirected her attention towards the dwarves, "You lot must be of the loosest morals to believe that dragons and lost homes would make up for her... her _whoring_."

"WHAT?" It was Gloin who fairly roared his indignation, but the rest of the company was none too quiet either. Gandalf and Oin immediately started hushing the crowd, wary of disturbing what time Thorin and Belladonna had left with each other.

"Who are you to **ever** call her such a name?" Dori's voice may have been quiet, but it held death in its tone.

Camellia barreled on, unaware or uncaring. "Well what would you call her? She came back to the Shire obviously with child and unwed. Who even knows which one of you was the father? Or if it was any of you. Stop at any dwarven cities on your way?"

Sheer will kept the company from murdering the impudent woman on the spot.

"Now Camellia," Longo said, placatingly, "No need to be so blunt. It is not respectable."

" _I'm_ not acting respectably?" She protested, " _They're_ the ones..."

"There was a child?" Ori questioned. "Did it live?"

"Yes, the half-dwarven bastard." Camellia spat, as Longo's face suddenly went slack and pale.

"Well, where is the bairn now?" Bofur asked, "We must see it."

"You cannot," Longo's voice was full of horror, "After finding Belladonna, how could we have forgotten Bilbo?" Turning, he sharply called for Blanco, while hastily putting his sodden boots and coat back on.

"The lad's name is Bilbo. Belladonna left to find Bungo just after dark and never returned, but some time during the night, Bilbo also disappeared, and left the door half open. We were searching for him out there, too."

Blanco appeared and hastily started getting ready to go back out, looking as horrified as Longo, "What have we done?" He gasped.

The Company was immediately ready to go out and search. They knew precisely who Bilbo's father was, and if they didn't find him, if he died before Thorin even met him, they couldn't imagine what the consequences would be. Balin abruptly began barking out orders, splitting all available hands into teams and sending them in different directions to search.

They would find the child. They could only hope it was in time.

***

In the end, it was Bofur who found the lad. 

After some time, Bofur and Gloin, searching together, were unwilling to admit defeat, but were not seeing results. No one was. Their hearts were heavy with thoughts of the child lying dead beneath great snow drifts, or in the belly of a wolf. This precious child who was their prince, heir to Erebor, whom they had never even laid eyes on. The thought of him taken from them was devastating.

While taking a break, Bofur's mind began to wander, thinking of their burglar and how stealthy she was. How she had managed to stay alive and awake for so long when anyone else would have given in to the cold and their wounds. It suddenly occurred to him just _why_ a mother would hold on so long. If her child were nearby and she knew it...

Bofur took off towards the area where Belladonna had been found, leaving Gloin to follow, not knowing what was going on. There it was, the snow still held the imprint of her body, dotted and splotched with red. With the wind shifting the snows around, it was hard to make out other, softer indentations, especially since hobbits were so surprisingly light on their giant feet. But... just there... it could be a tiny foot print... and another... heading towards...

Bofur looked up, into the branches of a large tree, heavily weighted with snow. Just there on a large bough, seemed to be a delicate movement, a vibration. Shivering.

Bofur had never been much at tree climbing, or anything that took him off the ground, really. He was a creature of stone, and stones were not known for going up. But on this day, without even thinking about it, he scurried up the tree as easily as a chipmunk, wholly focused on the shivering bundle above.

The child was conscious and afraid, watching him wearily, though too worn to actually move away. As Bofur reached for him, the child spoke, his voice barely audible.

"You took her away."

The quiet accusation brought unwilling tears to Bofur's eyes. "Yes, my little prince. We took her away. We had to. She was hurt very badly, and we needed to take care of her."

The child blinked, considering. "I am not a prince," he said, "I am only Bilbo."

Bofur smiled, "and I am just Bofur, humble toymaker," he introduced himself, "I knew your mother, once. Shall we go to your house? It's warm."

Bofur expected the lad to leap straight into his arms, but instead he sniffled and curled up tighter.

"Bilbo," Bofur coaxed, "come now, you must get warm. You will freeze out here."

"No." Bilbo was firm, "please. I'm not allowed."

"You are not allowed to go home?" Bofur asked, totally confused.

Bilbo starting sobbing. "Because I hurt mama! Because I told her da was outside and she left and got eaten. Auntie said she got eaten and she did!"

Bofur's heart broke for the child. "It wasn't your fault, Bilbo. Of course it wasn't."

"Yes it was," Bilbo sobbed, "I was bad, auntie said. And da died and mama got eaten."

"You saw her," Bofur said, suddenly overcome with horror at the realization that the child had seen her grievous wounds, but hoping that she had been able to talk to the boy. "You saw her here under the tree, yes?"

Bilbo nodded. "She said hide from the wolves and be strong."

"Did she say that it was your fault?"

Bilbo went silent, then finally breathed, "No. She hugged me."

"Bilbo, I knew your mama very well," Bofur leaned in and spoke to the child in his most serious voice. "She'd never hug you if she thought it was your fault. She loved you. She would want you to come back to the house and get warm."

The child continued to cry quietly, and didn't answer. He also didn't protest when Bofur reached over and plucked him off of his branch, cradling him close as he backed down the tree. At the base of the tree, Bofur took a moment to gaze down at the young prince, taking in the almost blue skin, frozen pajamas and single shawl, and the rag toy the lad clutched to his breast, even as he slowly succumbed to a deep sleep. 

Bofur shuddered to think that just an hour or two more in this cold and Bilbo might have been lost to them all. He worried over the scars that the child would surely carry with him from now on.

That must be put aside, because first the child must be taken back to his warm, safe smial.

Gloin had mercifully figured out what was going on, and had called out to the others that Belladonna's babe had been found. Bofur was met at the base of the tree by Gloin, Dori and Bifur. They all looked at the tiny figure in Bofur's arms in awe. At least until Gloin shook himself and gruffly insisted that they needed to get the lad to warmth quickly. 

They made record time back to the smial.

When they got there, they were met by Oin and Primrose, who had prepared a second room for Bilbo so that he would not have to see his mother in her condition. The child was quickly stripped of his sodden, frozen clothing and bundled as close to the warm fire as they could get him. A healing tea was prepared and set nearby for when the boy would awaken. Even little Bruno pitched in, cuddling close to his friend and sharing his warmth.

To almost everyone's relief, Oin announced that the boy would be fine once he was warm again and fed.

Camellia alone silently fretted. She had not been responsible for Bungo's death, and she was reasonably sure that no one could fault her for Belladonna's journey to meet her fate. But now that Bilbo was safe and well and _here_ , she would have to be very cautious. If he opened that little mouth of his and convinced everyone that she'd driven him from the home, she could be in real trouble.

Camellia began to feel trapped. Her resentment for Bilbo simmered as it had for his mother all these years. Her twisted heart beat a little faster in her chest at the thought of all she could lose. 

It wasn't just Bag End. If she wanted to be truthful with herself (which of course she did _not_ ), it had never been about the house. The beautifully grand smial had become the focus of her jealousy and covetousness, when really it had all been about Belladonna, about perhaps being the greatest. She so hated her one-time rival that the whole of her adult life had been focused on besting her, a focus that had proven fruitless. Belladonna had gotten Bungo. Belladonna had gotten Bag End. Belladonna had gotten to be _happy_.

Now Camellia had the chance to best her at something. Belladonna was finally on her death bed. Camellia felt as if she was taking a deep breath of fresh air. Bungo was dead, and Longo was now the head of the Baggins line. With Belladonna gone, Camellia would take her place. She would have the heir, the house and, hopefully, a large family. Everything that Belladonna could not.

Only if Bilbo did not speak up.

Right now, it was out of her hands. So she silently fretted.

The dwarves were not fretting, but they were angry. That their burglar was on her deathbed was atrocious, but that the son their king hadn't known of had also almost been lost was unacceptable. They wanted answers.

Their answers would have to wait, however, for presently a sharp, anguished cry of "Belladonna!" was heard, followed by a litany of nos, then the sound of their sovereign's heartbroken sobs, and they all knew what had just happened.

Silence stole their breaths, and they bowed their heads as one, tears falling freely where they would.

Only Gandalf spoke in the silence, a phrase of Sindarin*, "Guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham, mellon nîn." _My heart shall weep to the time we meet again, my friend._

Gandalf raised his eyes to the boy ensconced in blankets upon the bed, and was saddened to find open eyes gazing back at him, comprehension and devastation marring them, before heavy lids claimed them, and the child succumbed to sleep once more. Gandalf could only hope that the child's dreams would give him a short time of peace from his reality.

No one else dared to break the sombre silence that had fallen, although Primrose rose through her sobs to go and prepare some soothing tea. Everyone else seemed to be made of lead, each standing or sitting in precisely the same pose.

Finally a door was opened, and Thorin's voice, husky with grief, cut through the air. "Belladonna has died." He managed, before emerging and leaning against the doorframe. Dwalin was nearest to him, and offered a comforting hand upon his shoulder. While Thorin accepted the comfort gratefully, his eyes were dry. He'd exhausted his tears.

Oin swept past into the room to examine Belladonna's body and wrap it for burial. No one else really knew what to do or say.

After a few moments, Thorin spoke up again, hoarsely. "Belladonna spoke of a child who is in danger. Her child." He sucked in an abrupt breath, "My child."

Camellia startled up at this, panic filling her eyes. Tho other hobbits reacted with similar surprise, though the dwarves just nodded knowingly.

"How can this be?" Camellia nearly screeched in her shock and despair, "Were you not introduced as king of your mountain?"

"I am the king of Erebor!" Even slumped against a doorframe in grief, Thorin projected a majesty to his words, "And Belladonna was my wife. And she has told me that she has borne my heir."

"She has," Gandalf acknowledged. "I was promised not to tell you directly of her condition or the lad, to which I heartily agreed whilst you were still afflicted. But when I saw the madness had left you, I believed it best that you know of him. That was my true purpose in prompting your visit to the Shire."

"I am wholeheartedly grateful to you, for that," Thorin replied, "For I have at the least had a chance to see her and to say goodbye, and to make my apologies. She forgave me, she said, long ago. But I, I am such a wretched thing, unworthy of her love and loyalty."

"I do not understand," Camellia broke in, "She arrived clearly in disgrace and pregnant. If she was your wife... I do not understand."

Thorin gazed at the hobbitess tiredly, with a little annoyance. "Did she not speak at all of her adventures, or did you not bother to ask?" He said bitingly, "We faced much together on our journey; starvation, imprisonment and death among them. All the while, Belladonna was a steadfast little light, shining among us. She proved that she was loyal and brave, and she never ceased to be upbeat. We all cared for her practically the moment we met her, but somewhere along the way I found myself in love with her, and she felt the same. So we took a peaceful moment to marry, not knowing if the next portion of our journey would be the last. We survived it, but I was then taken by a madness - a disease that has gripped my family for generations. While so influenced I committed the most heinous of acts, divorcing the only woman I will ever love, and banishing her."

Thorin sighed, eyes downcast. "I cannot imagine her mental state on her journey home. How hard it must have been to carry a child all that way, to birth him alone. Still she forgave me everything. My wondrous love."

He bit his lip, then shook his head, "I only recently came out of my madness. It had me in its grips for years, yet I was more fortunate than my fore-fathers, who died with it. I came back to the Shire to find her and make my amends. I never imagined I might have a son." Suddenly Thorin remembered what Belladonna had said, "Where is he? Belladonna said he was out there with her in the snow among the wolves. Surely she must have been hallucinating."

Oin looked grim. "She was not, Thorin. But do not fret, we found the lad and brought him back. He is in the next room. He will be fine after a little rest and nourishment. He is a strong lad. Takes after you."

Thorin nodded, moving toward the indicated door. "I will wait by his bedside." He told them. "I must be there when he wakes."

With that, he disappeared behind the door to wait for his son to wake, leaving the shocked hobbits behind.

Now Camellia was really in a panic. She had not caused the death of a simple sister-in-law, she had caused the death of a former _Queen consort_ and attempted to take the life of a _prince_. A prince. That little bastard freak was no bastard at all, but the son of a _king_. 

If she could just keep the child from revealing that she prompted him to leave the Smial, she would be okay. She might, Camellia thought, calming down, even be _rewarded_ for being such a _grand_ aunt, taking care of young Bilbo whilst still encumbered by her own unborn offspring. The dwarves of Erebor were known to be quite wealthy. Perhaps she might even come away with some gold or jewels or other nice things. Certainly if nothing else she would be the envy of her friends, related to actual royalty.

Camellia did not take a moment to consider that her friends may not have survived the awful winter, or that even if they did, most were not half so impressed with wealth or fame as she was.

"Well," Longo proclaimed at long last, "Can you imagine that? Our Bilbo, the son of a king. And we, here, thinking him but a bastard babe of two races. It makes sense, now, why my parents accepted Belladonna as a wife for Bungo so easily."

Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows. "Indeed," he intoned, "There needn't have been a problem accepting her back with open arms in the first place, had one taken the time to ask and listen."

Three of the four hobbits in the room looked properly ashamed, not daring to glance at the room that housed Belladonna's body. Primrose, who had been crying off and on for what seemed the whole day, could not stop the tears once again. "We just... assumed the worst," she choked out, "Bungo was the only one who saw..."

"Only because he'd fancied her from the time we were all faunts," snapped Camellia. 

Longo sent her a dark look of hurt and bitterness. It was still very much a point of contention in their marriage. Longo had been well aware that Camellia was heavily campaigning for his brother's hand. She had never favoured subtlety on the matter. But somewhere in the midst of her babysitting their siblings and stitching pillows with Belba, Longo had looked up from his wild bachelorhood and realized that he could see a future with the woman - a future with many faunts and a comfortable home. And though she meant to have his brother, he couldn't help but dream, and fall in love. 

As soon as Belladonna returned and Bungo was no longer available, Longo began to court Camellia. He admitted now that the stars in his eyes had clouded his vision, for when Camellia responded and started to accept his courtship, everything in his world tinted a lovely rose colour, and by the wedding, he would not be swayed that his bride loved him completely and totally.

The haze of love and lust faded quickly after the wedding, and Longo felt a fool, for Camellia was obvious in her continued jealousy of his sister-in-law. It was quite clear that even still, Camellia would have preferred a marriage to Bungo over himself. They fought over the matter more often than Longo would have liked to admit.

It had been a painful realization, and it had driven a wedge between himself and his brother. Longo could not reconcile his love's obsession with a man other than himself, and he preferred to blame and avoid Bungo, rather than accept that his wife might not have married him for love. So he strove to provide for his wife and show his devotion to their growing family, and ignore his brother's family as much as possible.

Now he felt a deep regret and shame. His wife, it seemed, would never let go of the bitter fact that she had not won the better brother, even now that he was lost to them forever. Longo would stay forever second best to a memory. And worse, he would never be able to make his apologies to Bungo or Belladonna. It was too late to make amends. 

Looking around at the dismal expressions on the faces of everyone else in the room, it was clear that he was not alone in his regret. It seemed they had all wronged Belladonna in one way or another, and the was nothing they could do to make it up. The only piece of her left was little Bilbo. If they were to make any amends to the forlorn Baggins family, it would have to be through him.

***

Unaware of the thoughts or cares of anyone else, Thorin Oakenshield sat like a stone beside a bed still housing two tiny faunts. He knew immediately which was his son. The rounded ears and thicker features would have given him away, even had he not looked so achingly like Belladonna.

Thorin held the boy's hand in his, gently tracing his tiny fingers, while his eyes traced the lines of his son's face over and over, memorizing them.

He'd sat in this position before, watching his nephews as they slept, promising them that he would protect them and care for them as his own after the loss of their father. In those early days after they'd received the tragic news, Dis had been so distraught at the loss of her one that she'd been virtually unable to function, keeping to her bed, unable to eat or drink. The boys had scarcely known what was going on, weighted down under the depression that had seeped into everything. It had fallen to Thorin to work them through the pain and make sure they were clothed and fed and looked after. Late at night, after they'd fallen into the deep sleep of the innocent, Thorin would sit beside them and watch them and will away any nightmares as he memorized their features and promised them his protection.

Now he did the same with his son. His son. He was so humbled to be sitting here, gazing down upon a child that was half of him and half of his One. To see himself in the curve of his chin, and the set of his shoulders. To see her in the lines of his mouth and the honey curls of his hair. As deep as his connection to his nephews had run, this was so much more. It was... sure... in a way that didn't exist with anyone else.

By and by, Bruno awoke, and seeing an unfamiliar dwarf by his bed, burst into frightened tears. Thorin tried to soothe the faunt, but Bruno only took more of a fit. The row the child was making drew the attention of his mother, who came in and scooped him up in her arms, whispering soft reassurances into his ears as they withdrew into an empty room. When Thorin turned his attention back to the bed, his own son's eyes were opened and staring up at Thorin steadily.

"Hullo," Thorin said softly. He waited for a response from the boy, but was rewarded with only a blink of the eyes.

Hesitantly, Thorin reached forward to take the child's hand in his again. Bilbo passively let him, following the hand's movement with his eyes, before turning them blankly to Thorin again.

"Thorin Oakenshield, at your service," Thorin introduced himself.

Bilbo's eyes widened. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family's," he whispered, completing the introduction. "Are you really the king under the mountain from Mama's stories?"

Thorin smiled. "I am," he confirmed, unconsciously puffing out his chest in response.

Bilbo's face lit up, "Is it true that you fought giant spiders and a hundred orcs in battle?"

"Well, not at the same time," Thorin laughed.

"And you looked at a dragon straight in the face and laughed?" Bilbo continued eagerly.

"Now what sort of stories have you been told, my lad? I barely saw the dragon at all," when little Bilbo's face fell, Thorin couldn't resist a wink and an exaggeration, "Though I retrieved my gold as he chased me through his lair, and I cackled aloud when he was finally felled."

Bilbo was grinning and sitting up in the bed. "What's it like to be king?"

"It is very hard work," Thorin told him, "first to rebuild my mountain, then to make peace with our neighbours, then to have to make laws and enforce them and keep my people safe and happy. It can be hard. Yet it is also fun at times; I get to wear a heavy crown made of gold and jewels, and when I stand, everyone bows, and when I go to market, sometimes the vendors give me free pies." Thorin reached up with his free hand and playfully poked Bilbo's stomach, knowing that free pies were more likely to make an impression on the young hobbit than the crown of gold and jewels.

Bilbo smiled softly, and Thorin turned the poke into a tickle, which soon had him giggling. The clear tones of the child's laughter brought a smile Thorin's heart in a way he'd not thought he could feel again.

But he knew the laughter couldn't last, and he didn't notice when his features twisted into a serious expression again.

Bilbo noticed. "Are you okay, your majesty?"

Thorin chuckled humourlessly, "You, my boy, are never to call me 'your majesty.'"

But then his tone grew solemn. He took Bilbo's hands in his, and looked directly into the boy's eyes. 

"Bilbo," he said softly, "There's something I need to tell you. It's about your mother."

"Mama?" Bilbo went suddenly still. "Mama got eaten by the wolves," he said sadly, large eyes filling with tears.

Thorin gulped, "She was badly injured, Bilbo. And she... she... died... today. I'm so sorry, lad. Do you, do you know what it means to die?" And oh, if this wasn't the same exact talk he'd had with Fili and Kili after their father...

Bilbo's tears had spilled over, and were running down his cheeks. He nodded, then he shook his head.

Thorin understood. "You know your mama's dead, but you don't know what that means?"

"Mama got eaten. And da." Bilbo repeated. "Just like auntie said."

"Your aunt told you your parents were devoured by wild animals?" Thorin was aghast. Even were it true, he couldn't believe someone would tell a child such a thing so bluntly. Perhaps it was a cultural difference, but Thorin was upset that the child had been unnecessarily scarred by indelicate words.

Bilbo sniffed, "Ummhmm," he confirmed.

Thorin's heart melted. He scooped the child up into his lap and cuddled him close, tucking Bilbo under his chin.

Thorin could feel his son shaking with silent sobs against him, murmuring softly, "I was bad. I was very bad. So mama got eaten and now I have to leave."

Thorin shook his head, stroking the child's back soothingly. "No. No, son. Why would you think such a thing?"

"Auntie said..."

Thorin growled and silently promised to have words with "auntie" about just what she was telling his son. He caught Bilbo's chin in his hand, and raise his head so that he was staring directly into the boy's eyes.

"Bilbo, listen to me. You did not cause your mother's injuries. You were not bad."

"Yes I was!" Bilbo insisted, starting to curl into himself, "Auntie said she heard da, and I thought I did too, so I told mama and she went outside and got eaten!"

Thorin swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "Bilbo, lad... that was not your fault. You were _not_ bad."

"But mama..."

"Going outside was your mother's choice, Bilbo. She knew what might happen. It was not your fault. She loved you so much that even while she was hurt, she kept asking me to go and find you. She was scared for you."

Bilbo just shook his head, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He wouldn't meet Thorin's eyes.

Thorin sighed. "Bilbo," Thorin said as softly as he could make himself, "Did your mama ever tell you that I was very, very mean to her once?"

Bilbo looked up, startled, stiffening in the king's arms.

"I was very close to your mother," Thorin said, "I loved her dearly. She loved me too, did you know that?"

To his surprise, Bilbo nodded, his tears starting to dry up. "S...she said you were her first love and da was her last love."

Thorin's throat closed for a moment. Grief washing over him once more. What a life they might once have had. If only...

"Yes," Thorin whispered, then he cleared his throat, "We loved each other very much. So much that we were married - just like she and your da were." Thorin hadn't planned on explaining that much yet, but then, he hadn't expected Belladonna to have spoken so openly and fondly of him. "Your mama was queen under the mountain for a little bit."

Not strictly true, Thorin supposed, since he'd only officially been crowned after the battle, but the look of wonder on Bilbo's face was worth the white lie. 

"She helped us defeat a great dragon who was in our mountain," Thorin continued, "but after it was gone, we discovered there was a greater evil. Me."

The child's mouth dropped open into an 'o' of surprise.

"It's true, my boy. You see, there's a lot of gold in Erebor. However, for centuries my family has suffered from a sickness. When we are around the gold we care for nothing else. Our treasure is greater than anything else. Even love. And in Erebor, the Arkenstone was the greatest of all the treasure."

Thorin took a deep breath, "When I came into the mountain, the sickness immediately took me. I thought about only the gold. I was afraid that everyone around us wanted my gold. So I made all of our friends into enemies because they needed help, but I wouldn't help them. Your mother saw this, and she also knew that we were in great danger with no friends to help us from the Goblins attacking. She took the Arkenstone and gave it away. She was trying to help me, but I was very angry. Very angry. I banished her. I divorced her. I sent her away."

Though Thorin felt tears in his eyes, he took Bilbo's head and looked directly into his eyes, "I hurt your mother worse than you ever could. But your mama forgave me. She still loved me, and she forgave me. And she loved you. More than anything else in all of Middle Earth, she loved you. If you were ever bad, she forgave you. She would forgive you anything. Don't you see, lad? Nothing you could ever do would take away her love."

Bilbo dissolved into sobs, but Thorin sensed they were of the healing variety rather than the hurting. Thorin just cuddled his son close, waiting.

Finally, exhausted from his tears, Bilbo pulled back and looked up at the man he did not yet know to be his father.

"Are you still sick?" He asked.

"No, Bilbo, I am not sick anymore. I am cured of that awful curse. That is why I came here, to find your mother an apologize. If I had only known, I would have come sooner."

Bilbo nodded solemnly, "Will you stay here?"

Thorin nodded, "For a little while, lad. I'd like to help. Though that might mean leaving and calling for reinforcements. But I want to help who I still can."

Bilbo looks strangely resigned, but didn't question it. They both went silent again as Bilbo cuddled closer.

"Mr. Thorin," Bilbo murmured tiredly into the Dwarf's chest, "is mama still hurt?"

"No lad," Thorin comforted, "she's died. She is sleeping now, and she can't feel any more pain."

Bilbo considered that carefully, "And da?"

"Him too." Thorin confirmed.

"Ok," Bilbo finally said. "That's okay, then."

Bilbo, it seemed to Thorin, was wise beyond his years. But he was, still, just a child. A child who had lost everything he'd known and loved in his life. A child whose future suddenly seemed to him uncertain.

A child who was fighting a losing battle against sleep again already, exhausted from the emotions he'd just experienced.

Thorin began rubbing his son's back, soothing him into sleep. It didn't take long for the child to succumb, lying trustingly in his father's arms. Long after the boy had fallen asleep, Thorin held him close and stroked his back and rocked him soothingly.

Bilbo was his treasure now, and he would protect this most precious thing. He knew that the hard part wasn't over. He still had to figure out how to tell Bilbo that he was his true father. He still had to convince him to come away and live amongst his people in Erebor. And he meant to make good on his intent to help his wife's people through their ongoing despair.

But Thorin had found his reason to live. His reason to get up in the mornings again. His reason to care once more. His reason to heal.

As Thorin gazed down into his son's sleeping face, he began to make plans. Plans for his people, plans for the hobbits, and plans for his family. All too soon he would rise, gently tuck little Bilbo tightly under his covers and return to the others, revealing the plans he was forming in his mind, and setting them into motion.

But, Thorin thought, carding his fingers carefully through his son's blond curls, all that could wait. Just a little bit longer, it could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I do not claim to be proficient in Sindarin, so unfortunately the phrase is one copied from online sources. If it is incorrect, please let me know, and I will rectify it.


	6. And Justice for All

Thorin was determined to help his wife's people in their hour of need. He had known that it would be difficult, but he had also counted on the work to keep his grief from swallowing him whole.

He hadn't counted on throwing a sick little boy into the mix. Unfortunately, Bilbo's foray into the frozen world outside in nothing but nightclothes had not left him unscathed. By the following morning, the child was a coughing, sniffling, whinging mess. He'd quickly developed a cold that had gotten into his lungs, and he was barking out deep coughs that were both painful and worrying. He was hot and then cold in turns, tossing this way and that to dislodge his coverings, then snatching them back over him to stop the shivering. His miserable, feverish mind tormented him with nightmares of his parents' deaths, and he often called out for Bungo or Belladonna, and when they didn't respond, cried his heartbreak inconsolably.

Thorin constantly worried that his heir might follow his hobbit parents into death, although Oin had assured him that Bilbo would outlive this illness. It was serious, but not likely to be life threatening as they were closely monitoring it. Still, Thorin spent every spare moment certain that his son would take a turn for the worst, picturing various awful scenarios over and over in his mind. He was _worrying_ in a way with which he was unfamiliar. It was a feeling that he would come to find that all parents shared for their children.

Unable to bring himself to leave his son's side, Thorin held council in Bilbo's room with Gandalf, Dwalin and Longo Baggins. His dwarves, he was determined, would help the hobbits in the Shire who were left alive. They would bring supplies and fix up smials and patrol the Shire to keep out the wolves. They would finish the works that Belladonna and her hobbit husband had started. However, Thorin's small band would not be enough to do such a thing, and Erebor was much too far away to send for help. So Dwalin, Thorin decided, would need to go to the blue mountains and roust any who were able and willing and return with him to the Shire. Ered Luin or thereabouts would also be where Dwalin was to purchase the supplies. 

Money was no longer in short supply for the King of Erebor, and indeed, the small band of dwarves had brought plenty with them for Thorin's subjects in the Blue Mountains. Thorin knew that not everyone would want to return with them to Erebor, so he would make sure that they would share in Erebor's restored wealth. Bandits along the way had managed to steal some of the Company's gold, but the travelers were not naive to the world, and only a small amount had been taken. There would be plenty for supplies for the hobbits, with more than enough left over to convince his people who chose to remain in their homestead that they would be taken care of.

Dwalin was to purchase supplies directly from Ered Luin if possible, but if conditions there were as bad as in the Shire, to find a supplier among Men to provide for both dwarves and hobbits. His first order would be to find Dis and hold council with her and the other leaders as the specifics in carrying out Thorin's plans. However, as Belladonna and Bilbo had not been made known to Dis, Dwalin was to mention nothing of them to her. Thorin preferred to tell the story to his sister himself.

Dwalin agreed and it was decided that he would take Balin, Ori, Nori, Bifur and Gloin with him. They would leave for the mountains immediately, as the weather had calmed for the moment.

Gandalf had opted to stay in the Shire instead of accompanying those headed to Ered Luin. He sensed rather strongly that something was very wrong here, and would stay to see it outed. In fact, he already suspected what might be amiss, but was quite unwilling to push. The details would not be long in emerging, and perhaps the proper time to handle such a revelation would be when things were stable once more.

Longo Baggins, for his part, was amazed by the generosity of the king, whom he'd not known existed two days prior. He now understood that there was much more to the story of Belladonna's adventure than he ever could have guessed. Her wild ways hadn't caused the disgrace they'd assumed - they would make for the saving of the Shire itself, it seemed. Belladonna was a heroine to these dwarves, and posthumously would become one to her own people, for it was for her memory and that alone that the King Under the Mountain was willing to help the hobbits. And they so desperately needed it.

The atmosphere was very tense in the once grand smial. Everyone was worried for poor little Bilbo. Thorin was alternately full blown papa bear, war leader, and grieving husband. He stayed by his son's sick bed constantly, wiping sweat from the boy's forehead, tears from his eyes and snot from his runny nose in turns. When Bilbo cried out in pain, Thorin softly sang ancient Khuzdul lullabies in a deep soothing voice, which quieted him almost instantly. When Bilbo tearfully begged for his mother and father, Thorin cradled him carefully in strong arms and whispered stories of Belladonna - and often when he thought no one was looking, shed a few tears of his own. When Bilbo slept, Thorin sat in silence, memorizing his son's face, and the feel of Bilbo's tiny hands in his.

When Bilbo had nightmares, Thorin listened carefully.

For Bilbo cried out frequently in response to the shadows troubling his dreams, and a story was slowly beginning to take shape.

"Don't tell mama, please," was Bilbo's most frequent protest. He often asked, "where's da?" or "when is da coming home?" He sobbed out, "I'm sorry, mama! I didn't mean to make you leave." And, heartbreakingly, "Don't die, mama. Please don't die."

But curious were his frequent mentions of his aunt. "I'll be good, auntie, I promise," or "I'm sorry auntie, I can do better," or chillingly, "please auntie! Please don't make me leave!"

Thorin knew better then to dismiss these words of terror, even as he soothed them from the bearer and replaced them with songs of beautiful things. Bilbo never mentioned a name, but Thorin suspected he didn't need one. There was currently only one "auntie" in Bag End, and from the beginning she had seemed cold and callous, wholly unconcerned with anyone but herself.

In the days since Bilbo's rescue and Belladonna's passing, the woman had not endeared herself to anyone within the smial. In fact she had become downright insufferable, complaining constantly of inconveniences to her person. Dwarves, she insisted, could not make good tea, or fluff a pillow. She must have the exclusive attentions of Primrose to make her comfortable. Because, she was sure to tell them at every chance, she was pregnant, and the life of an unborn child was at stake. When she was sat still she would complain of aches in her back, when she was up and moving she had just terrible pain in her joints. Nothing was satisfying for long. The baby was hungry, the baby was thirsty, the baby was hot, or the baby was cold. 

Perhaps she meant to play the put-upon heroine of romantic ballads. Perhaps she felt keeping everyone busy would distract them all from what Thorin suspected she had done. Or perhaps she was simply so arrogant and self-involved that she truly believed her deplorable behaviour was correct.

Thorin was never a philosopher, and had little time or patience for sussing out the motivations of others. He cared only about two things - what Camellia had done to Bilbo and possibly Belladonna and her husband, and what her punishment would be. And with Thorin's rage growing at every terrified cry from his child's feverish mouth, _punishment_ was becoming his foremost thought, and he was itching to carry it out.

Gandalf proved to be a calming force on the king during his personal tumult. The old man didn't say much, often simply standing or sitting silently in the room, puffing away at his pipe. However he radiated both an air of woeful understanding, and of carefully cultivated patience. Thorin suspected Gandalf knew exactly what had taken place, but was waiting. What Gandalf could be waiting for, Thorin did not know, but the fact that he seemed to suspect what Thorin did without any discussion was helping to keep Thorin's simmering anger from boiling over. If the Ancient felt it necessary to wait for a better time, Thorin could wait as well - for a short time. Belladonna had, after all, been a favourite of Gandalf's and he'd never made any secret of it. He would want justice for her murder as well.

So Thorin kept silent over his suspicions, and waited.

A tense and wary fortnight brought both health back to the child, and the return of Dwalin's company with supplies and reinforcements.

The small band of dwarves returned to Bag End with a dozen hands more, and half again ponies bearing tools and food. The princess Dis sent along her fond regard and regrets that she could not be among the relief, however she was needed at home as her youngest had sustained an injury, and she looked forward to meeting her brother the king again soon.

 _That was a relief_ , Thorin thought, but didn't say. His explanations on hobbits and his newfound son would be a long one, and one he'd like the put off as long as possible.

The fortnight also finally brought a welcome break in the storms. The vicious rain and snows had raged on for days after Bilbo and Belladonna had been found in them. There was no doubt that Bilbo would have died along with his mother in the extreme conditions. It was work enough in the grand smial keeping fires lit and damp at bay. The icy snow kept plugging the chimneys, and seeping up through the floors. It seemed then as if the savage weather would continue forever, yet just days passed, and the winds stopped their howling, and the ice quit pelting down upon their heads. Further days passed and lo! The sun emerged at last, beginning its slow job of melting the snows and bringing life once again to the Shire. By the time the dwarves returned with extra men and a dozen ponies laden with building materials, medicines and food, one could even see clear ground in many places.

This would make the task of rebuilding infinitely easier.

Cautiously, Thorin directed groups of dwarves headed by Longo or Blanco to search out smials and determine who were left alive in them and what their need was. They started in the immediate area, pleasantly surprised to find not only many survivors, but thanks to Bungo and Belladonna, relatively healthy ones. The addition of many hobbits who were able to assist in the recovery efforts was more than welcome. And their grief over the deaths of Bungo and Belladonna touched the hearts of the dwarves that had known the brave young lass. 

Belladonna was apparently not so hated as Camellia would have them all believe, and Bungo was genuinely liked and respected by almost everyone. Their loss was a great one. Many hobbits joined the search and rescue efforts to honor their memories.

After the first day's efforts, Thorin split the volunteers into two groups. One to continue to search for families and more volunteers, and the second to begin distributing food rations, repairing smials and administering medical aid. The hobbits surprised the king, taking to the direction with aplomb and further organizing the efforts easily. It wasn't long until Thorin's direction was needed only for a few dwarves who were uncertain about taking orders from the hobbits.

With the new supplies, a group of hobbits was selected to feed everyone. They naturally chose Bag End as the best place for this massive operation. Bag End was large and spacious, and could accommodate multiple cooks working round the clock, and a constantly rotating shift of people eating. This would serve at least during the first days of the rescue efforts.

The dwarves had to admit that they were impressed by the hardiness of the race. After months of fear, starvation, disease and death, those who had survived had come through with a will to live and to help, and an unbelievable cheerfulness to go with it. The hobbits had found hope and it was making them strong.

Camellia, of course, was furious. She did not want other hobbits in Bag End. She had worked too hard to secure it for herself. She did not want the hustle and bustle while everyone _ignored_ her. She had complained long about her pregnancy and delicate health, and so as the Shire began to become alive once more, she was not allowed to head any of the groups. She was not allowed to direct. She was, in fact, kept to the side, and asked to "make sure the babe didn't pop out too soon." While other women were baking or serving or searching, she would not get credit for any of it. She would, in fact, be seen as weak, and she wouldn't even be _coddled_ for all that.

But she was not in a position to argue, and soon she was relegated to a back room, forgotten by all but Primrose and Longo, who periodically brought her food, blankets, or books to read.

Thorin was just grateful that the room she ended up in was not Bilbo's. He didn't want that woman anywhere near his son - especially in his delicate health.

Bilbo's recovery had seemed a slow one to Thorin. He'd gotten much worse before he finally got better. The deep cough had worsened in his lungs, and he began to have bouts where he fought just to breathe, while his skin burned like fire. But finally after much careful care by Oin, and a small boost from Gandalf at his sickest point, Bilbo's fevers broke, and the deep coughing began to bring up great globs of green and yellow. Finally that subsided, and Bilbo began to rest peacefully, sleeping for entire days. When he woke up hungry and thirsty for the first time, Thorin rejoiced, knowing that he was almost well.

It was in those days, while Bilbo was recovering, weak but whole, that Thorin knew he must tell the boy of his dwarven lineage. The opportunity came all too soon.

Bilbo was nothing if not intelligent. It wasn't long until the child was questioning why the _King Under the Mountain_ was at his side every time he woke. And, in the manner of all youths, he wasn't afraid to simply ask outright.

Thorin knew this was an opportunity not to be wasted. Still he struggled, trying to come up with the right words.

"Do you remember my telling you that your mother and I married, Bilbo?" He finally asked.

Bilbo gave him such an adult look of _do you think I'm daft?_ that Thorin found himself biting the inside of his cheeks so as not to laugh.

"Well, then," Thorin continued in a somehow steady voice, "you know when a man and woman marry, they often have children."

Bilbo nodded impatiently.

"The truth is, when your mother and I married, we conceived a child. Before your mother had a chance to tell me she was pregnant, I grew sick and mean, and sent her away. She came home, here, to the Shire, where she married again and had the baby, whom her new husband raised as his own child."

Bilbo thought about that. He knew adults didn't tell him everything, but Bilbo was pretty sure he would know if he had a brother or sister. He blinked up at Thorin, processing.

"Me?" he finally asked.

Thorin nodded with a smile, "yes, my boy. The baby was you. Bungo was a good man and a good father, but you are _my_ son." Thorin felt he surely could be excused for the sudden fierce possessiveness in his voice.

Bilbo hesitated. "Did you know mama and da were dead? When you came here?" he asked, timidly.

"No," Thorin answered, perplexed at what the lad was thinking.

"Were you coming to take me away from them because I was bad?" The child's eyes were large and sad, looking steadily into Thorin's eyes as he asked.

Thorin felt his breath leave him at the revelation of his son's thoughts.

"No!" Thorin denied, a little too sharply as Bilbo flinched, "No. No, Bilbo, no. It was nothing like that at all."

He couldn't resist scooping the child from the bed into his arms, and holding him close. Burying his face in the boy's soft curls, he took a few deep breaths, and squeezed the lad tighter, as if just by cuddling him hard enough he could change Bilbo's thinking.

"I was sick, remember? I was mean to your mother and sent her away. When I got better, I decided to come here, to ask her to forgive me. I didn't know you were mine until Belladonna told me, just before she died. I did not know of you before, so I did not come to take you away. And, listen to me lad, this is very important: you. were. not. bad. You were _not_ bad."

Thorin wasn't sure how to get through to the child, so he found himself repeating the phrase "you were not bad" with fervor.

Bilbo turned in his father's arms to search Thorin's face. Finding only truth in his expression, Bilbo relaxed, cuddling comfortably into his father's chest.

"That's good," he murmured softly, "auntie told me if I was bad goblins would take me away to their cave and eat me. Will you fight them off when they come for me?"

Thorin was dumbfounded and furious. He found it necessary to count down in his head before he reacted.

"Bilbo, you have not been bad. You did _not_ kill your parents. You are a good little boy in every way."

Bilbo looked up at him with troubled eyes, "but auntie..."

"Auntie was wrong!" Thorin interrupted, struggling to keep his temper under control, "She lied. Bilbo, you are wonderful and good. She was wrong to tell you that you were bad, and she was wrong to tell you that goblins would come to eat you."

Bilbo looked genuinely confused. "But," he stated, "she's auntie."

Thorin chose to interpret this to mean that Bilbo did not understand how an adult could be wrong.

"Bilbo," he said gently, "sometimes adults are wrong, and sometimes they say mean things."

Bilbo felt tears rise into his eyes as he tried to make sense of such a profound truth.

"But... but doesn't she love me?"

Thorin closed his eyes.

"Perhaps," he said, "but she may love herself more."

Bilbo didn't really understand. He had been protected from the bad intentions of others his whole life. He'd innocently thought everyone loved him, and he loved them all in return. When aunt Camellia told him he was being bad, that his mother had been eaten because of what he said, of course he believed her. How could he not? She was the adult. How could she be wrong?

"Do you understand, my boy?" Thorin asked him.

Bilbo nodded, though he really didn't. He wanted to make his new father happy. He would not mess up this time. He would be good, no matter what it took.

___

Father and son quickly became inseparable after that. Bilbo, who was scared, alone, and determined not to be the least bit bad, clung to Thorin relentlessly, growing anxious whenever the dwarf was out of his sight. He had lost both parents he'd grown up with when they'd left his sight, and suddenly he had a second father - a second chance - and Bilbo was terrified his new father would disappear as well.

Thorin, for his part, didn't mind keeping his son close, either. He'd nearly lost the boy before he'd even met him, and then again to illness just after. So when Bilbo clung to his neck and insisted on being carried with Thorin while he met with dwarves and hobbits and gave them directions, Thorin obliged. When the lad whimpered at the thought of Thorin leaving the room, he cuddled him close and whispered reassurances. When the child refused to eat at all unless it was off Thorin's own plate, the king under the mountain simply piled extra on, and indulged the boy.

He was coddling Bilbo.

This may have seemed out of character for the often gruff and reclusive king, but to those who knew him, the behaviour surprised no one. Anyone who had seen him interact with his young nephews after their father had died would have seen similar scenes. This was not to be faulted. Dwarves had carefully maintained a rough-and-ready reputation among the other races, but bairns were precious, especially in these war-torn times. There wasn't an adult dwarf around that wouldn't look after a wee one carefully and gently, even if not their own. To be harsh to an infant was to be met with severe repercussions. The dwarven race being the longest lived among the mortal races, there was plenty of time between puberty and adulthood for stricter discipline and lessons of the realities of the world. Children were to be treasured.

Thorin's tenderness toward the orphaned hobbit lad, in fact, rather endeared him to the hobbits. As the truth of Belladonna's adventures began to circulate, backed up by verified reports of Thorin's closeness to the half-dwarf, Thorin found himself the object of increasing respect among hobbit-kind. Hobbits were practical sorts, after all, and seeing the king in their midst, gently reassuring a traumatized child, did him a world of good in their eyes. As well it went for the many who had liked Belladonna Took, but had shunned her out of propriety; the knowledge that she had been a proper, upright hobbit after all was welcome. These ones could no longer show their approval to their wronged companion, but their good will was able to be turned towards the Dwarf king and the half-hobbit child.

Another fortnight passed, and as the spring flowers finally began to bloom in the Shire, so bloomed of friendship between Hobbit and Dwarf.

The Fell Winter had brought devastating loss to the Shire. Graves were plentiful, and bodies - and pieces of bodies - were still being found. The disease that ravaged home after home had not just magically disappeared with the snows. There was no family that did not know loss. No child that was left wholly innocent. No man or woman who did not wonder that had they preserved just that much more jam, stored just those few extra herbs, they might have saved a life.

But out of every ash rises a Phoenix, and the Shire was certainly not short of ashes. One of these phoenixes took the form of a new committee designed to redistribute land according to family claim or need. Each parcel was considered carefully. Family claim did not outweigh need, however need did not necessarily outweigh a family's claim to the land. It was only the cases where entire families had been decimated, or heads of households were gone, that claimants would have to come before the committee to submit their plea for the land.

Over a month after after Belladonna's death, and less than a fortnight after the emotional burial of her body and what affects of Bungo's had been found, Camellia was pressing her husband to step forward as claimant to Bag End.

Longo was the eldest surviving brother to Bungo, she wheedled, his claim couldn't possibly be disputed. Besides, as Camellia reasoned, they'd been the ones to take care of Belladonna after Bungo's disappearance. They'd been living in Bag End for months now helping with the rescue efforts and caring for little Bilbo. Longo must step forward, before anyone else did.

Longo did not want to claim Bag End. He did not want the constant reminder of his shattered relationship with his dead brother, or his wife's continued obsession with him. The Baggins family was wealthy, and held a great deal of land which they let out, bringing in steady income even in these leaner times. Longo would prefer to give Bag End to one of his siblings and build a different, suitably lavish smial that might finally assuage his wife's need for material show.

But Camellia was intent on Bag End itself. She no longer cared for the logic of the thing. This was her obsession. It didn't have to make sense. She had focused all of her hopes, dreams, lust, greed, desire and hatred on the acquiring of it since she'd lost Bungo to Belladonna. Her Longo was now head of the Baggins clan. Her unborn child would create a new clan, the Sackville-Bagginses. And now, at long last, the status symbol she craved was in her grasp.

When Longo did not step forward with a claim, she took care of the matter herself. 

Of course, the first thing she would do when the title was handed over would be to get rid of the myriad hobbits and dwarves that were still tramping in and out of the smial in a constant rotation. The rescue and recovery efforts based in Bag End had been going on for far too long. It was time to cease this nonsense, and move the efforts elsewhere.

She would be heartily pleased, she thought, to see the backs of the dwarves for good. They were loud, rude and ugly, and she wished them well away. Beyond that, their king stared at her in constant anger. It was unsettling.

Once she had Bag End, that would be it. She just had to sit back and wait, now. She was sure it would be handed to her in time.

When that time came, she was appalled to find that other claimants had stepped forwards for it.

 _"Tooks!"_ She growled under her breath. 

"Bungo was a _Baggins._ " She explained to the committee, trying to sound sweet and reasonable, "The smial should fall to the Bagginses, and Longo is the head of the family now."

The committee members were a group of five hobbits including the Mayor of Michel Delving,* and the Master of Brandybuck, Gorbadoc Brandybuck. The Thain, Gerontius Took, was also on the committee, but would not be among those judging this claim, as his family had their own stake. 

The members of the committee listened carefully to Camellia's statement, and nodded in agreement with her claim, but Gorbadoc Brandybuck spoke up. "The Took family has a valid claim. Bag End was built largely with Took monies. They have invested more into it than the Baggins family. Should they not have a say in who it goes to?"

There were cries of "yay" or "nay" throughout the room. Land meetings were open to all, and this one had drawn more than the usual attention. There were few beings in the Shire that did not want to see what would happen to the home of their wronged and then vindicated friends. Someone within the crowd yelled out, "Bungo built it for Belladonna! It should go to her family."

Camellia did not know who did the yelling, but vowed the harshest revenge if she ever found out. It grated on her so. "Bungo built it for his future wife. Not specifically for Belladonna. If she had not returned to the Shire, Bungo would have married another and moved in anyway."

"Untrue!" Declared Gerontius Took, "When Bungo approached me for funds to build Bag End, he showed me designs he'd drawn based off of my daughter's rather particular tastes. Every bit of it had her in mind. Furthermore, we agreed that if she did not return within five years time, he would hand the smial back over to my family and be compensated for his portion, to build a new smial when he decided to marry."

Murmurs of surprise briefly overwhelmed the rooms, and Camellia blanched.

"However," Gerontius continued, "I believe there is one who has a greater claim on the smial than my family or Longo Baggins. By rights, I believe the smial and holdings under Bungo Baggins's name should fall on my grandson, Bilbo Baggins."

The murmurs were louder this time. "But Bilbo is a lad of only 6 years." "27 years until his majority." "He is only half hobbit." "He isn't even Baggins blood."

"Now, now," the Thain said, holding up a hand to calm the crowd, "I understand your objections. But Bilbo is Bungo's heir, whether or not he is Bungo's blood. Bungo made that abundantly clear when the child was born. And he is a Took by blood. If it were any other child, his inheritance would be held in trust until he was of age."

Longo, to Camellia's great anger, stepped forward to agree with Old Took's pronouncement.

"But," Camellia couldn't stop herself from interjecting desperately, "The little... _one_...is not even staying in the Shire, is he? He and his dwarven father have been inseparable. I can't imagine that when the dwarves leave, he will stay."

Gandalf, who had been watching the proceedings but had heretofore been making himself a shadow, now spoke. "Perhaps," he said, puffing noncommittally upon his pipe, "Thorin should have a say in the matter."

Gerontius nodded slowly. "Yes, Gandalf is right. There is, perhaps, more to this than we know. Someone please go and fetch the king under the mountain."

"Without Bilbo." Gandalf interjected firmly, as a hobbit broke from the crowd to find the dwarven king.

Old Took looked over at the man and must have been able to read something in his face. His face twisted in thought, his eyes narrowing as they met Gandalf's. Something of an understanding passed between them, but the two elders made no sound, waiting for what would come.

There were no dwarves present at any of the land-holding meetings. It was mutually understood that these matters did not concern them, and their presence would do no good when they were needed elsewhere. But within the hour, at least a dozen stood in their midst, including the summoned king under the mountain.

"Greetings, Thorin," welcomed the Mayor warmly, "Thank you for joining us."

Thorin nodded in return. 

"We've asked you here because we are discussing Bag End, and who it shall go to now that Bungo and Belladonna are no longer with us. Bilbo is one of the claimants, and we wanted you here to represent him, as you are his father and guardian."

Thorin looked surprised. "My son will be staying with me," he said firmly, almost harshly. At the visible flinch of his audience, he softened the tone. "Had Belladonna or Bungo lived, of course, it would be a different story. But they are gone, and the lad knows that I am his father. I will not leave him here alone again."

The older hobbits nodded in understanding. However...

"The question is," Gerontius spoke up, "whether Bilbo might one day return to the Shire. If he should one day return for any length of time to learn about his hobbit parents and culture, Bag End should rightfully belong to him."

Thorin took a moment to think this over, "That would be acceptable." He said, then sighed, "more than acceptable. I want Bilbo to know Belladonna, to feel connected with the brilliant person she was. I fear my son is so young, he may not retain his memories as he grows. It would be nice for him to return to a piece of her. But, it will likely be many years before he comes to stay for any length of time."

Gerontius nodded his approval, "I believe that the best course in this matter would be for Bilbo to receive his inheritance as any other Shire lad or lass who has been orphaned. Bilbo has already gotten a new guardian among family, and as a Baggins heir, it would do for a Baggins relative to hold his properties and monies in trust until he is of age."

Thorin gave a grunt of disapproval. "I do not think all that will be needed," he said, "Bilbo will be recognized as my son by my people, and as such will have access to far greater wealth than his hobbit inheritance can account for. Those monies would serve much better use given to the community to rebuild than sitting around waiting in trust for his maturity."

A ripple of startled approval passed through the crowd of hobbits at that statement. Dwarves had a wide reputation for greed, yet here was their king, who had already sunk significant funds into their recovery, suggesting they keep resources he rightly could have claimed. Even Gandalf looked a little surprised at Thorin's statement. It seemed Thorin's contrition toward the adventurous hobbit lass was pure.

Gorbadoc Brandybuck broke in with a suggestion, "Much of the Baggins fortune lies in property holdings, of which Bungo, as eldest heir, held the largest portion. Most of these properties have ever been leased. Had Bungo lived to see Bilbo grown to maturity here in the Shire, and Bilbo remained the only heir, all of such holdings would be passed to Bilbo. What the king may not understand is that a proper inheritance means a lot to a hobbit, and should Bilbo return and take a hobbit wife, it would be quite the shame if his children had nothing to inherit, even funded by dwarven gold. So, on that basis, perhaps a 60/40 split of the profitable property holdings would be wise. 60% of the landholdings - including Bag End itself - can be held for Bilbo until he reaches his majority and lays or refuses a proper claim. The rest can be distributed amongst the Baggins claimants. The 60% will be held in trust by a Baggins family member, and the profits from the landholdings will be given to the community until Bilbo makes his claim."

"That is wise, brother," said another council member, "what say ye all to such a plan?"

The council recognized a solid plan upon hearing one, and it was quickly agreed upon and put into writing. The only thing left was to decide who would hold Bilbo's trust for him until his claim.

Unsurprisingly, Camellia was quick to volunteer Longo. 

"Longo is Bungo's eldest surviving brother. It only makes sense that he keep Bilbo's holdings for him," she began.

Thorin's reply was quick and unintended. "No!" He practically roared the word, startling most in the room.

There was a moment of silence, then Gerontius spoke, "Forgive me, Thorin, but I was under the impression that you and Longo got along."

Thorin silently cursed himself for his quick tongue. This was not what he had intended. He had not meant to upset the hobbit he'd worked closely with and come to admire.

"Indeed," he finally said, "I would even call him friend. However, were my son's trust to be kept by him, it would not be he alone influencing its keep."

The meaning behind Thorin's words was apparent instantly, and Camellia stiffened, eyes wide, face reddening with humiliation and fury. "Just what is _that_ supposed to mean?" She cried, angrily, looking towards her husband for support.

Poor Longo wasn't sure what to say or do. He certainly was not enjoying the implications against his wife in public, but he could not very well fault Thorin for his opinion. His wife's behaviour towards the dwarves had been at best indifferent, and at worst deplorable thus far, while the band of dwarves had been as gracious as they could possibly be at tolerating her bad attitude. Still he hadn't thought the king under the mountain would go so far as to hold his personal grudge for Camellia against Longo's ability to care for his nephew's inheritance.

Thorin, on the spot, looked askance at Gandalf. Gandalf was staring at him with a calm, measured gaze, and nodded once, encouraging Thorin to bring the matter to light.

Sighing, Thorin held his own gaze confident and steady as he addressed the council members, "It is no secret that Camellia Baggins has not ingratiated herself toward myself and my people while we have been here, attempting aid. However, were it simply a personality clash, or a little rudeness, there would be ample reason for me to hold my tongue, and entrust Bilbo's inheritance with Longo. He is hard-working and honourable. However, over the course of my getting to know my son, I have found her attitude and interactions with the child to be disturbing, even abusive."

Utter silence fell at that statement.

"I had not meant to air my suspicions on the matter yet, as my presence has limited the interactions between them, and I cannot provide solid proof, but I would prefer to see my son's future here be held by a family member who will not be influenced in large part by this woman." Thorin could not manage to keep the contempt out of his voice, but he did feel bad for the hobbit who stood by her side. "I am sorry, Longo."

The mayor cleared his throat, "you do realize that you are raising a serious charge with your statement, Thorin."

"I do."

"Have you any proof at all of misdeeds?"

"None that wouldn't involve traumatizing a child further to bring to light."

"Then what reasons have you for these accusations?"

"The way the lad acts around her, he is _afraid_ of her, and the way she looks at him with disdain when she believes no one can see. Bilbo repeatedly insists that he's been bad, and that's what caused 'mama and da to get eaten by the wolves _just like auntie said_.' He was terrified that I had come to take him to be murdered by goblins because his _auntie_ told him so. I have come to dread the words 'but auntie says,' because he then goes on to describe the horrible things that she has told him. He calls out to his mother and father in his nightmares, apologizing for killing them _because she told him he did_." 

Thorin had become more heated as he went along, and stopped now, breathing hard and shaking with anger he'd repressed since the day he'd arrived. He took a deep breath.

"Bilbo begs for forgiveness in his dreams, because he feels guilty that _his auntie_ told him that she heard his father's voice outside, and he ran and told his mother, who went outside searching for her husband to her death. How suspicious it was that Camellia suddenly 'heard' Bungo's cry for help when wolves were upon them, and blizzards raged. And after his mother never returned and the cries of lupine attacks filled the night, she told Bilbo that it was his fault, that the wolves had devoured his mother, and that he did not deserve a home. How coincidental that he suddenly disappeared in the middle of the night, running out into the snow with nothing but a shawl and his favourite toy!"

Gasps had arisen from the crowd at Thorin's last statement, and Camellia had gone red and pale in turns. Thorin's description of the events was eerily accurate. _He couldn't have pieced that together on his own_ , Camellia wrongly assumed in her panic at being caught out, _that little brat must have told him all_. 

"That's... that's just... preposterous!" She stuttered, trying and failing to look utterly outraged at the suggestion. "You can't possibly _believe_ this."

Longo was torn between defending his wife and a growing horror that _it could be true_. She had always been resentful and jealous of Belladonna, she had done everything she could to win his brother and the house. She had never shown anything but scorn for their child.

Sickened, Longo stepped back, looking into his wife's face searchingly, "Camellia," he breathed, "it can't be. Tell me it cannot be."

Camellia squirmed and gasped under his scrutinizing gaze, in turns tears welling into her eyes in a bid for sympathy, and anger lining her face at being accused. She finally settled on anger, glaring at him and past him to the onlookers.

"Of course not," she hissed like a viper, "of course not! The dwarf just wants everything for himself. And that... that _unnatural creature_ is a little sneak and a liar. His mother should never have come back here and brought her bastard with her!"

Murmurs of recrimination peppered the hall, as the crowd reacted to Camellia's venom.

"He's a _child_!" called a voice, "not a creature."

"He's just six years old!" another cried, "and Belladonna saved my life!"

"Saved all our lives, bringing the dwarves here."

"Being half dwarf isn't unnatural!" "He's just a baby." "How can you hate a wee lad so?"

With just one foolish cry out of anger, Camellia had tried herself in front of all the Shire, and been convicted.

The crowd was growing angrier and angrier, and Camellia was becoming genuinely scared. She looked to her husband for protection, but he was staring back at her with a heartbreaking look of disgust and betrayal.

Seeing the gathered hobbits start forward, baying for blood, Gandalf intervened, stepping in front of the accused as a great light flashed, blinding everyone for a moment.

"Enough!" he said. 

Addressing the crowd, he held up a calming hand. The angry murmuring died down, and the hobbits stepped back, warily.

Gandalf turned, and gestured for the hobbits in authority to take over.

The Mayor, the Master of Brandybuck, and the Thain - the three hobbits who held the highest authority in the Shire - looked at each other, holding silent court. Having come to tacit decision, Gerontius stepped forward.

"This is a grave matter you have brought to our attention, king under the mountain. It is clear from your accusations and Camellia Baggins's response, that something more than we know has been going on at Bag End. But such a serious matter is not one to be dealt with here. It is one that must be investigated and examined, and then put to trial. Will you, Thorin Oakenshield, make a formal accusation of wrongdoing?"

Thorin didn't have to think about his answer. He'd known as soon as he'd spoken his first word against the hobbitess what he would do. He would personally like to see the harridan get the sharp end of the sword for her hatred and evil manipulation of his family to their harm. However, his son had been damaged too much already by her machinations, and there was simply not enough evidence otherwise against her to prove that she did anything to cause actual harm to anyone. 

"I will not," Thorin announced with a heavy heart.

That certainly startled everyone present.

Thorin went on to explain his reasons, "My son has been thoroughly traumatized by the deaths of his parents, and by the manipulations of this woman. But he believes what she has told him because he believes that she loves him. He still trusts that all adults are truthful and care about him. After all that has been taken from him, he clings to whatever love he believes is around him. I do not want his innocence and faith shattered. He has lost far too much already. I will not see him further broken."

He sighed deeply, a weary sigh that left no doubt to anyone how difficult this was for him.

"It is a time for healing, not hatred," Thorin stated, "So no, I will not formally charge her of wrongdoing. Besides, she has her own innocent babe coming, who does not deserve to be deprived of its mother. I sincerely hope that none of you will forget what type of woman she is, and the hate and vengeance she holds in her heart for ones who have never harmed her. And," he said, turning back again towards the council, "I do not want her to have any sort of influence over Bilbo's inheritance. He deserves to be able to remember the Shire fondly, and not fight unwarranted hostility upon his return."

"Do not worry," Gerontius said gravely, "I do not think anyone here will forget the events of today any time soon. However," to the crowd, "I assume everyone here shall keep in mind that we are civilized hobbits. Camellia Baggins may have been seriously accused, but bitter personal feelings do _not_ equate to proof of wrongdoing. Therefore, I expect that we shall not hear of any abuses on her person or her family."

Gerontius knew that his words would not keep Camellia from the judgement she deserved from her peers, but hoped that this would prevent bodily harm to her person. Hobbits, as a rule, were a peaceful race. Rarely did they ever encounter worse crimes than petit theft or cruel gossip, and they prided themselves on handling such offenses civilly. They only _just_ had a jail, and it was sorely used. But in these lean times, after months of near starvation, with so many dead and everyone grieving and angry, Gerontius feared no less than a lynching for the woman accused of luring their new heroine to her death. Whether or not it be true, the crowd believed it so, and might well take action. Gerontius hoped desperately that he could keep them from all becoming murderers on this day.

He drew a breath, then softened his voice. 

"My daughter would not have wished injustice on another, even if they didn't like her."

As Gerontius's words sunk in, Camellia scanned the crowd desperately for support. Finding nary a friendly countenance, she turned to Longo, who still looked shocked and betrayed. Angrily she joggled his arm, at which he just shook his head mutely. In disbelief, she backed away, and turning abruptly, she tried to hold her head up in righteous indignation as she exited. Unable to handle the scorn of her neighbours for long, however, she put her head down and fled the scene.

"To that end," Gerontius continued as if Camellia had been just a side note of little consequence, "might I recommend that our lad's inherited properties be managed by a group instead of an individual? All of the surviving Baggins siblings might have an equal share in its management. Disagreements can be brought to Common Bench** if they arise. As for Bag End, perhaps the best course would be to employ a third party to see to its care and upkeep until the return of its master."

Thorin nodded his agreement, "A caretaker seems a good solution."

The Thain beckoned forward a figure that Thorin had not previously been introduced to. "Holman Greenhand currently sees to the gardening at Bag End."

"That I do, sire," Holman said, stepping forward, a hobbitess clutching at his hand, "And beggin' yer pardon, but that me and mine have cared for her since she were built. An' if I may be so bold, if the insides a'need carin' for, me wife, Lissy..."

"Lisanthus, majesty," the woman broke in softly, shooting a glare at her husband for his indiscretion.

"...could make a go a' it. She's about as good a housekeeper as any a lass could be, long as she's not put to th'oven."

Thorin hid a smile as the wife threw the husband a second glare. "This is acceptable," he approved, "I shall leave appropriate wages for this year, and send as much each year again until my son returns."

"Thank ye, sire," Holman said gratefully, "We're both right fond of the wee bairn. He's a joy to have playin' at helpin' in the garden. We'll charge ya better'n fair, no doubt, for the youngun's sake, and his mum and dad. They always treated us well."

"You shall charge me at least a fair wage for both of you," Thorin stated.

Longo, who had been silent, and was still awfully white, cleared his throat, "That needn't be necessary, Thorin. The monies earned from Bilbo's properties will be more than sufficient to keep up Bag End. It should be paid from our part in the trust."

It was a peace offering. Not much, but all that the shell-shocked hobbit could give.

Thorin nodded, accepting the gesture. "Thank you," he said, making it clear once again that he held no ill will towards the gentlehobbit.

The Mayor cleared his throat. "Ahem," he said loudly, calling the attention of the crowd, "This excitement has been more than enough for the day. We shall reconvene tomorrow. Might I remind you all that we are civilized hobbits, and what you've seen and heard today should not be used for vengeful purposes."

The crowd slowly dispersed, eager to hear any last scrap of this business, whilst pretending to mind to their own. However, no one else was eager to feed the gossip, so they finally went away feeling quite perturbed.

After the uninvolved hobbits had finally exited, Longo and Thorin faced each other awkwardly. Longo had not dreamed of such a situation, and was quite unprepared to deal with it. But deal with it he must.

"I am sorry, truly," Longo finally said, "I fell in love with Camellia when she was courting my brother. I suppose I've always known it was really him she wanted, and that she was jealous of Belladonna for holding his attention so exclusively. Yet I'd never dream that she would take out her anger on a child for any reason. It is hard for me to believe."

Thorin nodded, but did not yet speak.

Longo couldn't meet his eyes. "Do you want to involve the Shirrifs?"

Thorin did not know what shirrifs were, but still understood what Longo was asking. "No," he said, "and yes. Children are very precious to us. We have so few of them. Finding out that I have a son was like a miracle. The bond I feel with him is... is indescribable. Figuring out that he was abused made me want to exact bloody vengeance. But, it would do my Bilbo no good, and it would do you and your people no good. I meant what I said. I will take my son away with me, and raise him and heal him. That is the best that I can do. I will not risk traumatizing him further."

Longo sighed, "My thanks to you, for your mercy. I... I still love my wife. In spite of everything. It can be hard to see, but she can be quite lovely. Perhaps now that she has no hope for Bungo or Bag End, she can settle down and become a good wife and a mother."

Thorin rested a hand on Longo's shoulder, "I do not envy you, your path with her. Stay strong."

Longo nodded, and turned away to speak with the committee members about the contracts that would need to be drawn for his brother's estate. Hobbits generally hadn't much of a need for contracts or solicitors in particular, but in this case, it would be necessary. However, instead of such a weighty discussion, Gerontius clapped the younger hobbit on the back and declared that Longo was sore in need of a good stiff drink. Longo didn't argue as he was led away.

The dwarves, in turn, left, headed back to Bilbo and Bag End.

___

Camellia burst into Bag End, tears of shame and anger streaming down her face. Primrose looked up from where she was seated with her son, whom she had been reading stories to all afternoon. Seeing her friend's distress, she immediately rose and came forward.

"Camellia, love, whatever is the matter?" She gasped.

"Lies! Lies! Those hideous dwarves and their _slander_!" Camellia replied, uncaring that Bag End's "hideous dwarves" were mostly present. More than one who overheard bristled in response. She did not care.

"I'm leaving. Now. At once." Camellia pushed past her friend, eager to gather her things and leave before Thorin Oakenshield returned with his accusations. "Come, help me."

Bemused, Primrose did just that, following Camellia into room after room as she first gathered her own things, and then began packing away mathoms from around the smial. She had only managed a single silver spoon, when the dwarf caring for her nephew entered the room. Upon seeing Bilbo, she whirled around, her anger and humiliation coming to a head.

" **You**!" She practically roared at him, "I am ruined. _Ruined_. All because of _you_. I will _never_ forgive you. You should have gone to the wolves, like your worthless mama!"

Primrose gasped at this, pulling away from her friend in horror, as every one of the dwarves in hearing range stepped forward, murder in their eyes.

Gandalf appeared out of nowhere, stepping in between the dwarves and their future corpse.

Glowering down at the hobbitess, his voice took on a tone none of them had ever heard. A wave of dread washed through the woman as he spoke.

" **Enough, vile woman.** " His voice was thunder and stone. "It is the evil in your heart that has brought you to ruin, and your own machinations. You have been spared by the mercy of another this day, but you shall do. no. more. harm." He clipped out each word in emphasis. "Go now to your own home. Alone. And suffer the consequences of your foetid soul."

Everyone stood completely frozen for what seemed like an eternity, until Camellia finally summoned the courage to move, scooping up her gathered items and fleeing the smial. She would never set foot in Bag End again.

The hobbits and dwarves in Bag End were completely stunned, not having heard Thorin's accusations as yet. No one moved as they struggled to process what had just happened. It was the sound of Bilbo's heartbreaking sobs that finally broke through the tension. As one, they all went to comfort the lad, but the presence of so many was anything but comforting to the poor child, and he only sobbed harder.

Once again, Gandalf stepped in to calm everyone. He started with Bilbo, taking the boy in his arms, and putting him gently to sleep. As Bilbo's cries ceased and the pain in his face eased, so did the tension among the others. Cradling the child close, Gandalf made his voice soothing as he addressed the occupants of the once love-filled home.

"There has been a revelation as to the ill-will that Camellia has harboured towards young Bilbo. It came out in public as her greed moved her to bid for this place repeatedly. Before the day is out, the entirety of the Shire will know how badly she has treated this innocent one." He gestured down to the sleeping child he was cradling. "Do not become upset at not knowing. She hid it well. But matters such as these inevitably come to light."

He continued, addressing the dwarves specifically. "You lot, do not try to exact vengeance. She has been spared by your king." But he smirked, a secret, evil little smile, "besides that, I expect she will suffer quite a lot more at the hands of her own. Hobbits are not a violent people, yet they have the most biting and unrelenting ways of punishing a person non-violently that I have ever seen."

This was true. Hobbits would not cut off a hand for stealing, or beat a soul as revenge for a misdeed. Instead, when a hobbit wanted to punish another, they began a peculiar process which was designed to break a person, mind and spirit.

First would start the relentless, vicious gossip and looks that clearly expressed disdain or loathing. Everywhere you went, you would be met with stares and whispers.

Next would come a social shunning: offers to tea would be rejected, conversations would be short and anything but sweet, prices would suddenly rise at market as you arrived. You would wait in line just that much longer, and be ignored as your turn came up. If you were thirsty, it would cost you more coin, and take twice as long to get your lukewarm, weak ale. A greeting, a smile, that extra roll from the baker, or willing hand to help you with your cart would vanish. Invitations to parties would only come grudgingly if at all, and you would be sure to get the worst of gifts.

Then came the constant small cruelties, irritants that weren't _quite_ anything, yet were constantly present on all sides. Adults would look the other way when their children accidentally ran by and caused you to stumble. You might set down your basket as you rested under shade on a hot day, and when you reached for it again, find that the "wind" had stolen it away and set it on its side in a most inconvenient place. Mathoms might go missing and only to turn up just when you needed them no longer. Prize flowers might spontaneously pop their heads off in the night, pigs or sheep might mysteriously find themselves outside their gates, or larders might suddenly turn out emptied. You might arrange a thing and turn around to find it completely rearranged, or be sure of having placed an item, only to have it vanish. As you walked amongst a crowd, you might feel a pinch, or a jab of elbow - you would certainly find yourself at odds with a stray foot in your path here or there - but no culprit would ever be seen. 

Before long you would find yourself in near total isolation, unable to turn to anyone for relief, unable to trust your own eyes or memory, unable to defend yourself from the daily cruelties. You would take to hiding indoors more often, closed off from more than just friends, but from fresh air, from life.

Not a few hobbits who had undergone such a shunning moved away from their tormentors, packing up home and family to escape, sometimes forced to leave the Shire entirely. Some, with the support of a small network of friends or family, were able to hold out until they were forgiven and the torment stopped. But hobbits had long memories when they wanted, and forgiveness was not always granted. Some few hobbits had gone quite mad after such a treatment, and never recovered their wits fully.

It seemed a simple punishment, but could be crueler than a prison cell or rope. At least, for a hobbit.

Gandalf knew that Camellia understood exactly what was in store for her, and he suspected she understood just how much she deserved it as well, even though she would stoutly deny it. Gandalf did not deny the irony that Thorin, by opting not to punish Camellia formally, had caused her a punishment far worse than he'd imagined.

No one accompanied Camellia out of Bag End and back to her own still devastated smial, though many of the hobbits left to gather the gossip of what had happened. Gandalf was quite correct, by sundown all of Hobbiton had heard tales of the woman's hidden villainry, and would punish her for it. Longo, too, did not return to Bag End, opting instead to join Camellia in their former hole, and begin repairing the smial and their relationship.

Thorin did return to Bag End, weary, to find his child still in Gandalf's arms, sleeping away the troubles of the day.

Thorin was tired, drained. The Shire had not been the respite he'd hoped when he'd first set out from Erebor. But he'd gained something infinitely precious.

Thorin took Bilbo and cuddled him close, once again taking his tiny limp hands in his, and memorizing the features of his son's face. He would settle the affairs with Bag End and the restoration of the Shire, and then they would leave. He would take his son to meet his sister and her sons and then, one day soon, they would all make their way back to the lonely mountain. 

As Thorin began making plans in his head, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and he retired that night early, cradling his son's small body against him, and humming an ancient song of hope in Bilbo's ear long into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:  
> *There is no listed name for the mayor during Bilbo's youth in the Shire. We of course know who the Mayors were at the end of the War of the Rings to Samwise Gamgee, but little otherwise.
> 
> **Common Bench, or the court of common pleas, was a feudal court system in which legal action could be taken between citizens without judgement of the king. Beginning after the signing of the Magna Carta, the split between common courts, presided over by a committee, and the King's Bench existed in some form or another until their unification in 1873. As Middle Earth is clearly a medieval society, it is likely that each race would have a justice system such as this. Hobbits, of course, do not have a king, or a ruling entity other than Thain and Mayor of Michel Delving, each which seem to be relatively perfunctory. However, I imagine they still might have a small council for minor disagreements, and a higher court for judgements of a more serious nature. However much they might be used.
> 
>  
> 
> **Author's Notes:**
> 
>  
> 
> Dear readers, I am so sorry for the length of time between chapters. As it turns out, I am a very, very slow writer. Much of it is due to my need for the detailing to be correct and understandable. Also, I suppose I am not naturally a writer, as I have bouts where writing comes quite easily, and then long periods of time where everything I write turns out badly, and needs to be completely rewritten. 
> 
> I deeply apologize. I promise that I will not simply abandon my writings, but it may take me some time to complete them.
> 
> This chapter was weighty and long, but the next shall be focused on healing and fluff. Perhaps we shall finally meet our Company's two missing trouble makers.
> 
>  **So I have a question for all of my readers:** What shall Bilbo call Thorin? I know that a Dwarf would call him "Adad." But I have to confess that "Daddy" Thorin has a special place in my heart. And "Papa" Thorin was what I'd intended from the beginning, but I'm now rethinking. If you have an opinion, please let me know. I'm having trouble deciding.
> 
> One last thing: I have been asked about creating art for the story. I'm afraid my own skills are not up for the task, as much as I would like to, so you won't be getting any artwork from me. However, if anyone wants to art any part of it, feel free. It's fan fiction created for a prompt, so I don't really own anything but the placements of the words. Please have fun.
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments! I read them all and appreciate them!


	7. The Journey Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, I bet you thought I would never return with another chapter! I am sorry for the length of time between them, but there are circumstances which I will outline in the end notes. I don't want to take too much room here at the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> One thing I did want to note is that there will be some Sindarin in this chapter. I hate having to bounce from the chapter to footnotes for translation, so I will be including the translation next to each phrase. This is for you, dear readers, not for the dwarves, who really won't be able to understand what is being said at all, much to their frustration, so please keep that in mind. 
> 
> Thank you all once again for reading and for your wonderful comments!

It was a bright spring day when the dwarves left the Shire. 

The weather had held true. The long, lonely months of snows and storms, which the hobbits were calling a "Fell Winter," were a distant memory. The wolves that had terrorized the Shire in those dark days had retreated back to their normal territories. The disease that had ravaged the people had passed. Flowers bloomed, vegetables were growing again, and green was everywhere.

Thorin and his company had been surprised at the resilience of the race which had almost been wiped out by the extreme conditions.

Gandalf had not. It was one of the many things which continually endeared the hobbits to him.

"No matter how long you've known one," Gandalf had informed the company, "A hobbit will always surprise you. It's in their nature."

Gandalf had made that statement just before he departed to lands unknown. He'd stayed long enough to see his favourite race thrive once more, to see that the hobbit heir to a dwarven throne taken care of, and then he'd taken his leave, important business elsewhere drawing him away.

The dwarves had stayed in the Shire only days after Gandalf had gone, finalizing their provisions to the trip to the Blue Mountains, the home that was not home.

They were leaving behind a thoroughly disgraced hobbit woman. For her cruelty and ill intentions, she did not meet a swift end, as she would have under dwarven justice. Yet the dwarves found some satisfaction in seeing that she would, indeed, have no easy life. Even her closest friends no longer treated her with kindness, at least not in the light of day. While her husband stood steadfastly at her side, she had been treated so poorly in the days after the revelation of her deeds, that she'd locked herself away into one of the inner rooms of her smial, and there she would stay alone, at least until her babe was born.

She gave the dwarves no more trouble, and they left Bag End in the care of Holman Greenhand and his wife with light hearts.

And now, the band of dwarves found themselves on the road to the Blue Mountains.

Bilbo Baggins was absolutely fascinated. His young eyes found everything interesting. He’d never been out of the Shire. The further away they got and the more unfamiliar the landscape, the larger and rounder his eyes became, staring around him with such intensity, he scarcely blinked.

Every so often, for no reason apparent, Bilbo would let out a little golden laugh. Though none of the adults could figure out what was so amusing, they felt some relief.

After the cruelty of the last words his hobbit aunt had spoken to him, Bilbo had become even more quiet and withdrawn, barely responding to anyone save his dwarven father. He clung to Thorin ever more fiercely, hiding from the world under his father's beard, and whispering apologies into his ear. And now that hobbit and dwarf alike understood what had been happening to the faunt, they responded with remarkable gentleness and understanding. Sweet treats coaxed out shy smiles, small toys earned a breathy "ta," gentle touches and kind words saw the scared child start to relax.

As much as Thorin coddled Bilbo when he hadn't really yet understood what he'd been through, Thorin found himself hard pressed not to downright spoil the lad, or let anyone else do so, now that he did. If any child deserved to be spoilt, he reasoned that Bilbo was it. Still, he’d seen the ill effects of spoiling on his nephews when they were very young, and knew that he didn't want to deal with the resulting bad behaviour it would inevitably cause in his son as he grew and ceased getting his own way always.

So while Thorin encouraged any interaction that would bring a smile to the boy's face, he found himself shaking his head when too much candy had been offered, or stopping the creation of yet another toy.

It was strange, Thorin reasoned, how different it was to consider such things for his own son, instead of his nephews. He certainly felt a much greater sense of responsibility for Bilbo than he’d felt towards his sister-sons, though he’d practically raised the two of them.

He wondered how the cousins would take to each other once they met. How the child would take to having a new aunt; if he’d be too traumatized to trust her, or if he would take to her, for she was of another race. For her part, Dis was a tough woman and often dealt roughly with her sons, but she was a compassionate one. Thorin was sure that once his sister understood, she would dote on her only nephew.

Those concerns were a better part of the trip away. Thorin had sent ahead a few riders to inform the colony that they were returning, but he intended to take the journey slowly, spending the time with his son without the darkness they’d left behind.

Bilbo laughed again.

“What is so funny?” Thorin asked him.

As before, the child just shook his head and pointed into the trees. 

Baffled, Thorin examined the area closely, but saw nothing but trees rustling gently in the wind. The trees weren’t even new, the same sorts grew heavily within the Shire.

He shrugged. Let the boy laugh at nothing if he would. At least he was happy and relaxed. He turned his gaze briefly toward home. Erebor. He could not see it, but his heart was there, and he could not wait to return.

Wind rustled through the trees, and Bilbo giggled again. He turned to Thorin and tugged on his beard, pointing into the woods again. Thorin still saw nothing.

Then Bilbo did a strange thing. He called out in what sounded distinctly elven, “Tolo, govano ven!” _Come, meet us!_

Above them, laughter suddenly sounded. The trees rustled again, and two dark-haired figures dropped gracefully to the ground. Their dark eyes shone with both wisdom and mischief as they focused on the faunt.

“Pedil edhellen?” One asked. _Do you speak our tongue?_

Bilbo grinned and nodded. “Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn!” He proclaimed, testing out the greeting his mother had taught him. _A star shines on the hour of our meeting!_

This brought gentle laughter from both elves, one exclaiming, “Mae g'ovannen!” _Well Met!_

The other elf, seeing the darkening looks on the faces of the dwarves, switched to common tongue. “Well spoken, little one!” He praised.

His brother must have gotten the same idea, as he switched to Westron at the same time as the other and said, “you speak our tongue well!” 

Then the two turned and made faces at each other.

Bilbo laughed again, his tiny face shining, “Mama taught me!” he declared.

Everyone else had been struck dumb.

“What? Who?” Thorin finally vocalized.

The elves straightened, turning toward the dwarven leader.

“Do forgive us,” said the first, “we’re the sons of Elrond.”

“I am Elrohir,” the second said.

“And I am Elladan,” said the first, “We are very pleased to meet you.”

“You see, Gandalf sent us forth,” Elrohir continued, “with strict instructions not to be seen. But the little one spotted us through the trees straightaway, and we couldn’t resist a cheer-up.”

“Gandalf sent you?” Thorin asked in bewilderment.

Dwalin grunted, angrily, “Does he believe we can’t make it a few miles to the Blue Mountains?”

The two looked at each other rather sheepishly.

“In fact, we may have met him along the road,” started Elrohir.

“And he may have told us something of the child and his troubles,” continued Elladan.

“And we may have expressed our desire to meet him once more,” his brother took up.

“And he might have cautioned us to stay out of your sight, as you were ill treated by the king of Mirkwood and are still quite upset with us in general.” Elladan finished the tale.

“And you _may_ have disobeyed that order, hm?” Thorin sighed, shaking his head. It was uncanny how much they reminded him of his beloved nephews and their foolish antics.

“It was _just_ a suggestion,” Elrohir said with a distinct pout.

Bilbo giggled again at the put-upon expression on Elrohir’s face, and Thorin felt his ill-will melt away. His son was genuinely happy. Even had he not already created a shaky alliance with the Mirkwood king, he could set aside his bitterness for the sake of his son’s happiness. Besides, Elrond the Half-Elven had only ever been generous and hospitable towards them.

“What did you mean _once more_?” Inquired Ori from behind him, “You’ve met Bilbo before?”

“Aye,” answered Elladan, “though he was still but a bean in his mother’s stomach.”

“Yet he had a beautiful life force,” Elrohir piped up, "It shone so brightly through her, as if he were impatient to meet the world. We begged the lass to stay and birth him in Imladris so that we could meet him, but alas, she longed for her Shire so."

"We took her to her beloved home," Elladan said, "but we were called away just after, and haven't been back since."

They turned towards little Bilbo, smiling brilliantly.

"Glass nín le gen achened, gwinig," Elladan told him, "Law lîn síla sui Ithil." _It is my joy to see you again, child. Your radiance shines like the moon._ Elrohir nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

Bilbo's eyes were opened wide in awe of the two elves that stood before him. He gave them his brightest grin. "Gin seron!" He declared. _I like you!_

The twin sons of Elrond were well pleased to hear the child's words and reached out to pat his head fondly.

"It is well that our sister is not with us," Elrohir laughed, gazing at the faunt, "For she would bundle you up in her arms and be reluctant to ever let you go. She loves children so, but has not had the chance to be around many."

"Why not?" Bilbo asked.

"Arwen is one of our youngest, and she is over 2,600 years old. Children among elves come rarely, and are infinitely precious." Elladan answered.

"Our sister is especially fascinated of the sons of men," Elrohir stated, "They have children so often, and she loves to watch them grow. She says they must run at life headlong, for it passes them through it so quickly they have no time to rest up."

Thorin felt those words quite accurately described the few of the race of men with whom he was personally acquainted, now that he thought on it.

"Seeing as you have revealed yourselves to us," Thorin said finally, "will you be joining us for some small time?" He would not rudely cast them off, but did not especially want them to continue on into Ered Luin with them.

The twins smiled.

"Certainly," Elladan answered, "we would be honored to join your company, but we must be off again shortly."

They ended up staying with the company for two days.

It was surprisingly pleasant, having them there. At first glance they seemed rather reckless and foolhardy, but it didn't take long to see that the banter and songs and small pranks were a thin cover. They were, in reality, well taught and experienced, and very carefully controlled. As they took turns amusing Bilbo with funny stories, their eyes carefully scanned the foliage, looking for movement, while their noses twitched with regularity, smelling the air, and they tilted their heads frequently, listening. All senses fully engaged to sense danger, but barely noticeable to one who was not a warrior. It seemed instinctual to them, natural, as if all elves were born doing thus, yet Thorin knew it had to be trained.

He was growing in grudging respect for these two odd elves who had quite literally dropped in on them. They were brilliant with Bilbo, coaxing him to smile, laugh, eat. And as Bilbo grew more comfortable with them, they pulled, one by one, the rest of the company into the circle. It was a relief to see Bilbo, currently sat upon Ori's lap, completely relaxed and eating a light stew - something he'd only previously done in Thorin's arms.

Thorin found himself grateful for the interference of bothersome elves. By the time they reached the Blue Mountains, Bilbo would surely be more open and trusting. It would serve him well in his new home, surrounded entirely by strangers - some of whom were certain to be unaccepting of the little halfling prince. If they could only build up his confidence before he encountered such people, Thorin would be well satisfied. It would take time and love. Something Thorin hoped his sister would give Bilbo plenty of.

He was still nervous about meeting her again after all that had happened, and explaining everything. His nervousness was growing with each day's ride closer the Ered Luin. 

As the second day drew to a close, it was Elladan who rose and announced that he and his brother would be leaving them.

Bilbo instantly dissolved into tears, and would not be comforted. 

The twins each gave him hugs, tickled him, and whispered Sindarin into his tiny ears, but Bilbo just shook his head and continued to sob in the most heart broken manner.

Thorin cradled his son close to his heart, and gave the surprised elves a look of understanding. They were, perhaps, expecting malice, anger at causing the child to cry. But Thorin was a warrior, and a king. He knew what duty involved, and he'd known from the moment they'd shown up that Bilbo would have a hard time letting them go. He was simply hoping that the trust they'd managed to coax from Bilbo for the company would linger long after the elves left them.

Elladan and Elrohir bid farewell to the company, and bid a special farewell to Bilbo, handing Bilbo a small wooden flute to remember them by, and telling him to call upon them whenever he might and they would always come to him. Then they simply leapt upwards, into the trees, and disappeared. 

Though Dwalin would later deny it, Thorin distinctly heard the dwarf wish he could do that, to Nori's agreement. 

Bilbo sobbed inconsolably for the better part of an hour, after which he sat cuddled tightly on his father's lap, staring into the campfire and holding his little flute tightly. Eventually his little head started drooping with weariness, and Thorin rose to fetch a blanket and Bilbo's treasured doll family - one of the few possessions he'd brought with him from Bag End. He placed the dolls into Bilbo's arms, wrapped him up tightly in the blanket, and watched as sleep carried away his precious bundle.

The next morning, Bilbo woke with a cherubic smile on his tiny face. If he'd been Fili or Kili, that would have been suspicious, but Bilbo just opened huge brown eyes, and grinned up at his father. As soon as his arms were free, they latched themselves around Thorin's neck tightly, and he rested his sleep tousled head on his father's shoulder, watching the company's activity around them calmly.

It was during the gentle buzz of morning activity that Bilbo addressed him as father for the first time. Thorin almost missed it, as he bustled about the camp barking orders here and there in preparation for their last leg of the journey, his son curled up against his chest, little heart beating against his soothingly, and tiny golden head of curls tucked against his neck.

Abruptly, the little head moved away from his neck. Thorin looked down to see the small face gazing up at him, contemplative look on his face.

"I'm hungry, papa." The child said.

Thorin smiled indulgently, "We'll have breakfast soon."

Bilbo smiled contentedly at him and settled back into Thorin's neck, as Thorin turned to...

He stopped in his tracks. " _Papa_?" He gasped out loud? Had his son just called him _papa_?

Bilbo pulled back from his neck again and gazed up at him in mute worry. Thorin craned his neck to examine his son's face.

" _Papa_ ," he repeated, turning it over on his tongue. He squeezed Bilbo tightly to himself, overwhelmed and delighted. Bilbo, realizing all was well, grinned, and gurgled to himself happily.

Bilbo's good mood remained as he was placed in Bombur's arms for breakfast, as Thorin attended other matters. He seemed completely at ease, and cheerfully accepted the attentions of the dwarves around him. It seemed he would recover well from the loss of his two new friends.

Thorin was thankful for his son's happiness. Especially as if they made good time, they would reach Ered Luin by nightfall, and Thorin would then have enough on his shoulders without a fussing child.

They did make good time. It seemed the whole company was more than ready to rejoin their friends and families in Ered Luin after their time away. Word had spread quickly that their king was coming, and there was a cheering crowd anxiously awaiting them at the gates. Seeing the crowd, and knowing the king would receive the bulk of the attention, Ori took Bilbo to ride with him into the city, banking in the fact that his brothers being the bulk of his family and with him already, he might gloss by relatively unnoticed.

Bilbo looked about, wide-eyed at his surroundings. His whole life, he'd lived in a quiet, round smial, dug into the earth, surrounded by gardens and rolling hills. His neighbours were rarely more intrusive than showing up for tea unannounced. The market was a fun place of tents and cobblestone and wood, where you could obtain a hot pie or a sweet if you were good. It was bright and cheerful, with ribbons and flowers in abundance.

Mama used to tell him of Papa Thorin's castle under the mountain. He knew it was mostly stone, but he'd always pictured it as a larger version of Bag End, dug into a mountain, with a great round green gate, under a cheerfully moss-covered mountain, red and green and blue streamers dancing in the wind. He'd pictured the rooms inside round and cozy, with merry little fires dancing inside grates, plush carpets and comfortable furniture set before them, and flowers by little round stone windows. 

When Papa Thorin had told him that they would be moving to Ered Luin, Bilbo had pictured little stone smials built into the side of a different cheerfully moss-covered mountain, with cobblestone walkways, and ivy growing jauntily up and around round doors of green and red and lavender, flowerpots hanging from carven stone windows, and signs festively hung with pretty ribbons.

The real Ered Luin was nothing as Bilbo had imagined. Certainly the majority of it was stone, but there weren't any round little holes carved into the mountain with ivy running up them and little round windows holding windowboxes full of spring flowers, nor were there sunny cobblestone walkways and signposts adorned with cheerful ribbons.

The walkways were made of different kinds of stone, all fused together as if they had been dug from the mountain in one long piece. Buildings of thick wood timbres and rock walls were freestanding and lined the streets, signs and statues in front of them, declaring their wares. Here and there were patches of earth or gravel that Bilbo was uncertain the purpose of.

There didn't appear to be much greenery as decoration; no flowers decorating storefronts, wreaths woven of leaves and vines and berries, or pots of herbs and a vegetables were to be seen. Instead, pretty coloured stones decorated walls and signs, and wherever there was not stone, there were trees - large stately things that cast a cooling shade over sun-heated rock.

As they rode further into the settlement, it was clear that there were buildings carved into parts of the mountain. Bilbo wondered if they might be homes, but there weren't as many as Bilbo had been expecting. They didn't have brightly coloured doors or gardens either. They were simple doors and windows carved out of the rock, with dark wood doors and shutters.

They were also so very square. In the Shire, everything was round like the hills they lived in. Here, their buildings and structures, even windows and doors, were square or rectangular.

Bilbo might have liked to take some time to explore and figure out all the differences of his new home, but everything was so busy and loud. There was a crowd about them, shouting and cheering, clamouring for answers to questions.

As expected, the crowd mainly converged around their king, roaring and jostling to see him and be recognized. This was the man who had shared their exile. He'd worked, suffered and starved right beside them. And then when they all were convinced he was crazy and the task impossible, he'd taken a mere handful of dwarrow with him, and managed to defeat not only the dragon who'd driven them from their home, but an army of orcs as well. He was a living legend, who was returning after years away to bring them home.

There wasn't a man, woman or child who didn't want at least a glimpse of him.

Seeing the crowd growing increasingly excited, Ori quickly steered his pony off into a quieter corner, where he dismounted and began to lead the pony, with little Bilbo now riding alone, towards the king's old quarters, where Thorin would later meet them. 

High on the gentle animal's back, Bilbo gazed around him with cautious wonder. The sea of grizzled, bearded strangers was intimidating to a lad who'd grown up knowing nearly everyone he'd ever come across, with nary an elder sporting a beard. He didn't understand their actions or much of their speech, and they were growing louder, rougher. But they weren't paying any attention to him, and he had Ori with him, and he could see the Papa Thorin wasn't at all bothered, so Bilbo relaxed and enjoyed his first solo ride on a pony.

That was, until the clamour around them began to surge and Thorin and most of the company were led out and away, while Bilbo and Ori journeyed in the opposite direction, towards a small alleyway.

As soon as Bilbo realized his father was leaving his sight, he grew upset. "No!" He cried, twisting around to try to keep his father in sight, "Ori, no! Papa Thorin! Papa!"

Ori was not immune to his young charge's distress, but there wasn't much he could do but follow the plan and hope Bilbo could be soothed.

"Hush, lad," he coaxed softly, "It's alright. Your father will join us presently. He just needs to break free of the crowds. We are going to meet him."

Bilbo, who had two parents leave his sight and never return, refused to be soothed. Every moment his new father was out of sight, was a moment Bilbo could envision him being ripped apart by wolves like his mama, or vanishing and leaving behind only a few items-like his da, or attacked by the crowds that had carried him away.

Bilbo's words dissolved, leaving him only with helpless sobs and his struggles to get off the pony and go and find his papa. 

Ori could think of nothing else but to hasten the short journey to Thorin's quarters, and so he did, ushering the pony and its precious cargo away quickly. 

As soon as Thorin was completely out of his sight, Bilbo burst into hysterical tears, trying to get down from the pony and search for his father. Fortunately for Ori, Bilbo found it quite impossible, impeded by the bags of supplies around him. So the poor child simply twisted this way and that, looking for a way out, sobbing all the while.

The pony put up with this quite stoically, it should be said, and fortunately, it didn't take long to reach their destination. Ori quickly set the pony to a water trough and secured him there, pulling Bilbo off his back and into Ori's arms.

Bilbo's struggles grew suddenly stronger as Bilbo hoped to escape and run off in search of his father, but Ori held him fast. After a few minutes passed, Bilbo's strength waned, and he slumped against Ori's shoulder, shaking and shuddering helplessly. Ori himself slumped down to sit upon the portico that marked the entrance to Thorin's home. Once seated, he cradled Bilbo to him and attempted to reassure him that his father would be with them presently. Bilbo's sobs indicated that he did not believe Ori's words. So they sat quietly, Bilbo's soft sobs occasionally punctuated by a whispered, "papa."

"Why Ori," an amused voice suddenly sounded above them, "We send you off to war, and you return home with a child. What a surprise."

Ori was so surprised that he nearly dropped the boy, jumping to his feet so quickly.

It was the Lady Dis, the sister of Thorin, standing before him with a soft smile on her face. At her side stood two lads, her sons. The older standing straight as if to make himself seem taller, sword by his side, the picture of a boy just becoming a young man. The younger held his mother's hand, a grin splitting his face ear-to-ear, his free hand clutching a small bow as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet in excitement. Fili and Kili. How they had grown in just a few years!

"Ah, Lady Dis, hello... uh greetings," he made a move to bow, which was aborted when he realized that Bilbo made a proper bow impossible, "uh..."

Dis favored him with a chuckle, and motioned him to be at ease. "Do not worry, Ori, I am not here for formalities. I simply came here to await my brother's presence. Besides, perhaps it is we who should bow to you, one of our valiant heroes."

Ori blanched and nearly stumbled backwards, "Oh no, my lady, please do not," he protested.

Dis laughed out loud this time, reaching forward to steady the nervous dwarrow, "Do not worry, dear Ori. I would never put you into such discomfort. I was just having a laugh."

Ori gave her a nervous chuckle, and turned his attention to the children behind her, "Are these really Fili and Kili? They've grown so in the short time we were away."

"The time may have seemed short to you lot, gallivanting off to fight a dragon, but here it has dragged on, waiting for news, waiting for your return," Dis sniffed, her twinkling eyes giving away her humour, "Fili and Kili have aged accordingly. Thank all that is good that you were not gone another day, or they might have been quite grown up and ready to run off and fight dragons with you."

The boys' eyes lit at the suggestion, and they looked quite ready to run off and find adventure on their own. _Trouble_ , Ori thought to himself, _those lads will certainly be trouble_.

Bilbo was no longer sobbing outright, but he was still a shivering, whimpering presence in Ori's arms. A presence which was apparently triggering the Lady Dis's maternal instincts.

"Come now, Ori, let me hold your little one. Perhaps a mother might soothe the lad."

Without waiting for an answer, she reached out and plucked the child from Ori's arm, expertly settling him against her shoulder. Bilbo did not seem to even register the change at first, burying his little head into her shoulder and snuffling quietly into her neck, one small hand reaching up to tangle in her hair. "Papa," he murmured, soft sobs building slightly again.

"Hush now, child," the lady crooned, bouncing the boy slightly, "there is nothing to sob over. You are home now, with family in the Blue Mountains. The excitement will die down. Your father is nearby, young one, and your mother..." She looked questioningly towards Ori.

"Un... unfortunately his mother died," Ori stammered, "And... and I'm not the f..."

"Awwwwww..." Cried Kili, interrupting, "you lost your mother? I don't know what I'd do without mine. She's the best!"

Dis gave him a shrewd smile, "Thank you, Kili, but you are still going to be punished for the flour incident this morning, so do not think that flattery will lessen it."

Kili's face crumpled, and he stuck his tongue out, turning away in disgust.

Fili had approached now, and was smoothing his hands over Bilbo's head soothingly. It was a trick that had calmed his brother down when he was a toddler, and seemed to be working on Bilbo. The calming gesture had Bilbo's eyes blinking more slowly, and his body stilling.

Bilbo realized he was being soothed into sleep and fought it, pulling away from Fili's hand abruptly, and twisting in Dis's arms. "No!" He declared stubbornly, finally taking a good look at the stranger who held him.

He panicked, instantly struggling, his sobs renewing hysterically, as he called again for his new-found father. Dis tried to hand the struggling wildcat back to Ori, but that was not who he wanted, and he fought harder.

" **What is going on here?** " A voice suddenly boomed through the small gather. 

Thorin strode forward and pulled his son out of his sister's arms and into his own. Deftly, he cradled the child against him, and his angry thunder turned into a soothing rumble. "Hush now, Bilbo, I am here, lad. I am here."

Bilbo recognized his father's embrace instantly and shifted in his arms, wrapping his little arms chokingly tight about Thorin's neck, and hiding his head in his beard.

"Don't leave again!" The sobbing child demanded.

"I won't," Thorin promised him, "I won't leave you. Rest now. You've had a long day, but you're safe."

Bilbo did as he was told, relieved to be back with the one person he could trust, he almost immediately slipped into sleep.

That left Thorin the center of a very confused little group.

"Uncle Thorin?" Fili hesitantly asked.

Thorin's eyes came to rest on his elder nephew. "Fili! Lad, look at you. I left you as a boy, yet my return sees you nearly a man. Can you use that sword by your side?"

Fili smiled, "I can, but mother says I will grow better under your tutelage and Dwalin's."

"Quite right," Thorin confirmed, and he turned his eyes on his younger nephew, "And Kili, have you chosen that bow?"

Kili nodded enthusiastically.

"Can I not turn you towards a sword or hammer?" Thorin asked. 

Kili shook his head and Thorin sighed. "Very well, have you someone to train you?" 

Kili shook his head again.

"Have you at least given up tormenting your mother with your troublemaking ways?" Thorin asked.

At that Kili grinned wide, and Dis snorted. "That, brother, will never change. Now, shall we talk about the babe?"

Thorin sighed, "Yes, of course. Let us go inside. I should like to rest myself." 

He turned to Ori, "My thanks Ori, for taking care of him. You may stay or leave as you please."

Ori bowed, "Thank you, Thorin. I'll go and join my brothers. I believe they were going to set up the house."

Turning, Ori bowed to Dis and the boys, then loosed his pony, and led him away.

Dis strode forward and opened the door to the home. Fili and Kili dashed inside, eager to present it to Thorin. After, they'd gotten word of the company's need in the Shire when the snows had been high and the roads difficult, Dis had been the one to arrange the supplies to be sent to the Shire and had known that meant that Thorin and his Company would soon be returning to the Blue Mountains. So, she and the boys had taken some time to clean up, dust, and stock some food for her brother's arrival. Fili and Kili were eager to show off what they'd accomplished.

Standing in the entranceway, the two grinned and held their arms wide in presentation. Thorin took the appropriate moment to gaze about the cleaned and straightened domicile, then dutifully praised his nephews, who positively glowed at the appreciation. Dis cut the moment short by bustling in around them and dragging her brother over to sit by the fire grate. Kili took a seat on the floor by his mother's feet and Fili moved to the hearth to start up a fire.

Incapable of subtlety in this moment, Dis gazed at the sleeping child, taking in his delicate features and slightly pointed ears. 

"Is he yours?" She asked bluntly, beginning the interrogation.

"He is." Thorin answered.

"Elf?" She asked, gesturing to his ears.

"Hobbit." Thorin replied with a disgusted shake of his head, as if he could ever give in to the charms of an _elf_.

"Ori said his mother was dead," Dis continued.

"Yes." Thorin said, sadness shading his eyes momentarily.

"Was she..." Dis trailed off. Thorin met her eyes squarely and nodded. Dis let out a light swear, and compassion rose into her eyes. "I'm sorry." Thorin nodded again, eyes falling to his son's face.

"Why did you never send back word?" Dis finally asked.

"I didn't know about him. I found out just before we sent for supplies for the Shire. I felt the matter easier to discuss in person, especially as I was just processing it myself." 

Dis let out a breath. "Okay," she said, "perhaps you should explain now."

Thorin nodded again, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Fili stoked the now blazing fire once more, and moved to sit on the floor by his brother's side. Thorin absently made a mental note to acquire more seating. With Bilbo, he was sure he would have more visitors than he ever had before. Absently, he stroked the soft hair on his son's head.

"Just after we headed out towards Erebor," Thorin began, "Gandalf diverted us to the Shire. He believed that we were in desperate need of a thief, it must be a shireling, and he knew just the one for us. Her name was Belladonna. Most of the hobbits we knew were round, pleasant creatures who seemed to care little for what's around them and a great deal for their own comfort. Belladonna was different. She was small and adventurous, and had the tongue of a viper. Why, before Gandalf had finished asking her to join us, she'd gathered her cloak and walking stick, signed the contract, and produced a pie in celebration!" Thorin smiled at the memory.

"It seemed she was there simply for the love of adventure. I could not figure her out. We dwarrow had all come to take back our home - we had a purpose - but she was just there. She was opinionated, questioned every little thing, and constantly tried to get us to change the way we did things. By the time we made it to Rivendell, I was annoyed and tired of her presence. By the time we headed through the Misty Mountains, I couldn't stand her. And as we left Beorn's Halls and headed into the Mirkwood, I had visions of pushing her off the path and leaving her to her own devices."

He chuckled here, to himself. "Of course, the truth was that nearly from the moment I met her, I knew she was my one, that I would love her as I could love no other. I fought it unreasonably, for much longer than I should have. But I knew. And the Company knew, and loved her too. Even Belladonna knew, and joked about it often. She admitted she loved me far sooner than I did. She was a woman who knew her own mind and heart, and was strong enough not to lie to herself and try to deny them."

"By the time we reached Lake-town, there was no hiding how much we loved each other. The Lake-men welcomed us warmly, and we married there. We knew that there was danger to come and that we might not both of us come out the other side. It may even have been before we left Lake-town that the child was conceived. But it was perhaps the only moment in time that we were able to love each other purely, without worry, without danger, without my stupidity. It was the last time things would be so."

Then Thorin filled in the details, telling Dis and her sons about the journey, how they'd been surprised at the hospitality of the Elves at Rivendell, and Elrond's help in reading the map, how they'd slipped away into the Misty Mountains and been accosted by goblins, and still made it through. How they'd met Beorn, separated from Gandalf, and journeyed forth into Mirkwood where they'd gotten hopelessly lost and nearly starved before being captured by Thranduil, who demanded they return his jewels to him or remain prisoners indefinitely. Belladonna had morphed into a diplomat, and promised without promising that Thranduil would receive what was his and possibly more besides, if only they could reclaim the castle and treasury. It had struck just the right note with the elven king, and when Gandalf made his reappearance, the Company had been released into his custody, and Thorin's admiration for the little Hobbit woman had finally grown into a thing he could deny no longer.

He told his sister about the simple wedding ceremony performed by the corrupt master of Lake-town, and witnessed by the Company and Gandalf. How they had all celebrated with good food and much wine, and had stayed in comfort in Lake-town until the time came for them to enter the Lonely Mountain and confront the dragon. He told her of finding the secret entrance together, and reluctantly, very reluctantly, allowing his new wife to venture down and meet Smaug alone. How she managed to charm the evil smoke-lizard enough to find his weakness, steal a couple of trinkets, and make it all the way back down to Lake-town before the scaly ball of rage made his appearance and was promptly dispatched by a group of bow-men.

Here Thorin paused. This was the part of the story he most dreaded telling, the part he most dreaded _remembering_. He almost didn't tell his family about how he'd immediately begun to be suspicious and paranoid, only feeling a sense of peace when he was surrounded by the mountain's treasure hoard. He didn't want to mention his reneging on his promise to give Thranduil the payment they'd negotiated for the Company's release, withholding the funds Lake-town needed to repair the damage Smaug had done, and refusing even to release his wife's share of the money so that she could make amends. He could barely speak as he outlined what he'd thought was his wife's betrayal of him, followed by his divorcing of her and sending her away in disgrace, unbeknownst to him pregnant and alone.

He didn't want to even remember it, yet he needed to tell his sister the truth of it. And in telling it, he felt somewhat lightened.

"I stayed victim to the madness for years, unable to care about what had transpired." Thorin began the ending of his tale. "Then one day, I began to feel again. I began to see more than the glitter of gold and silver. I began to realize just what I had done, and my heart was crushed. I knew not what had happened to my beloved, how she had fared, if she was alive, if she had made it safely back to her home. All I was certain of was that what I had done was irrevocably unforgivable. My heart was dying and I wanted to die."

Bilbo stirred softly against his chest, roused by his father's upset. Thorin was quick to soothe him and calm himself down so that he might not wake his son.

"It was Gandalf who reappeared after all those years and saved me from myself. Belladonna had made it back to the Shire after all, and he felt I needed to go and see her. He gave me hope that we might reconcile, though she had remarried. It gave me a purpose once again, and we set out as soon as we could. But when we reached the Shire, we found the green and cheery hills had been decimated by snow, starvation, wolves and disease. There were so few left. Belladonna's new husband had died days earlier, out in the snow, and she herself had left the dwelling and disappeared. Bilbo, convinced by and evil and abusive relative, had disappeared in the night to go find her."

Thorin chuckled hurmourlessly, "I yet didn't know of the lad's existence. We found Belladonna in the snow, torn by wolves. She lived still, but not for long. I was able to apologize, tell her that I would only ever love her, but she... she wouldn't even hear of it. She'd forgiven me long before, and that was that. Her last concern was that I find our son and take care of him."

He could not speak or look at his family, though he heard what he thought might be a sob from Kili. 

"She died then, in my arms, and I just wanted to join her and walk into oblivion. But I had to find the child she mentioned; the son I'd never known existed. The others had found him out in the snows in naught but his night clothes beside where we'd found his mother, half frozen. I sat by his bedside as he lay sick, and knew he was mine and hers. He looks so like her. He has her laugh. He has her heart.

"I understand now, sister, your great joy in the children you bore, and your great sorrow in the loss of their father. I thought I knew before, but now... now I truly do."

His words ended, and he looked up cautiously, not sure if he would be treated to angry lectures and disgust, or sympathy. His sister's eyes were full of unshed tears and understanding. She rose from her chair and stood over Thorin, who, still seated, gazed up at her mutely. 

Kneeling down, Dis grasped her older brother's face, pulling his forehead forward and resting her own upon his. Keeping eye contact the whole time, she nodded against him, tears spilling from her lids and trailing downward. As she gave him a small, soft smile of empathy and forgiveness, Thorin felt his own face crumple, overwhelmed and humbled by his sister's devotion to him.

He was here again with his family: his sister, his nephews, and his son. They were all damaged, but together, they could all begin healing.

A tear of his own escaped his eyes, slipping down his cheek in silent absolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the angst! I could not help myself. Fortunately Dis is, I think, the last person who will need the explanation, and perhaps the one who will most understand how Thorin is feeling.
> 
> So I went with "papa" for now because I certainly believe that it is a term Bilbo would have heard before and could apply to his own father. Of course, as Thorin's son, Bilbo will now need to be schooled in Khuzdul, and so will then learn the dwarven terms for parents, so do not think that "papa" shall be the only name for our dear king.
> 
> Also notice that Belladonna's adventure with the Company - while the same in many respects - is also lacking in many parts that Bilbo originally experienced. This is because I feel it makes sense that the Company would travel to the Lonely Mountain the same way, hitting most of the same landmarks like Beorn's halls and Mirkwood, but it doesn't make sense that, say, three trolls would be hanging out at the exact same spot for 50 years waiting for the Company to come by, or that Dori would drop Belladonna down a cavern in their haste to depart too. Even the spiders might not have been a big threat because they were recently growing stronger and darker in the Mirkwood at the time of Bilbo's quest. So while some elements need to still be there, I felt it didn't make sense if Belladonna's journey was just the same.
> 
> Belladonna, also, did not acquire the one ring. I have plans.
> 
> Now for a bit of bad news. I have no intentions of stopping here with this story. I have a clear idea of what I would like to do next, and what the characters will develop into. But as you know, I'm an extremely slow writer.
> 
> Unfortunately now that is complicated by a new problem. For some reason (possibly a genetic disease) I am losing the use of one of my hands. This makes it much harder to write, and other things may go wrong as well.
> 
> So I just wanted to let you know that I will try my best to update soon, but please be patient with me. Thank you.


End file.
